


Honeypot

by cleo4u2, xantissa



Series: Honeypot [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Assassins & Hitmen, Bucky doesn't know about it, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Dom!Bucky, Edging, Fluff, Honey Trap, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Identity Porn, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light BDSM, M/M, Misunderstandings, Natasha coaches Steve during sex with Bucky, Natasha is professional voyeur, Not graphic mention of past rape, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot, Praise Kink, Spanking, There is no non-con thanks, Under-negotiated Kink, but he will, dissociation during intercourse, light dom/sub themes, sub!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-07-27 13:18:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 133,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7619602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/pseuds/cleo4u2, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Preconditions:</b><br/>One Sasha Marozow - internationally renowned assassin for hire, known as the Winter Soldier, ex-Hydra operative freelancing for the last five years;<br/>One Steve Rogers, Captain America - recently defrosted national hero and Avenger;<br/>One assassination contract;<br/>One set-up known in the intelligence community as the “honeytrap”.</p><p> </p><p><b>Expected Result:</b><br/>One Winter Soldier in custody, the name of his employer attained.</p><p><b>Actual result:</b><br/>Definitely <i>not</i> as expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Приманка](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13702818) by [Saysly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saysly/pseuds/Saysly)



> Our wonderful, irreplaceable beta is [NurseDarry](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7782292/chapters/17751652); all hail the endlessly patient woman.  
> 

Prologue

Sasha, shifted his right leg a little on the gravel, easing the pressure he had put on his thighs while keeping his body in the sniper position for the past few hours. His face was sweaty where is was pressed to the rifle's scope without pause. The sun, being the middle of July, wasn’t doing him any favors either.

Come to think of it, neither was the target. The bastard had the gall not only to hire halfway-decent security, but also to buy a good security system. Sasha had spent weeks on this shitty roof trying to get a better sense of his target’s routine. Still, they were nowhere nearer to completing the contract. To make matters worse, his employer was starting to get antsy.

Sasha picked one of the little pebbles that poked into places definitely not made for being poked by small, sharp stones and threw it behind himself without looking.

There was a yelp and a curse from the deep shadows in the small space between two chimneys.

“Ow!” a young voice protested, with a note of whining. “What _now_?”

“Do you have access to his security _yet_?” Sasha asked his young charge, Sai.

“No, I don’t! You think I’m sitting here baking in this heat for _fun_?” Sai snapped back, “Because this, here, is what my teenage dreams are made of. Sitting on a dang roof for hours on end, trying to break into a system I can’t fucking hack!”

“Language,” Sasha warned absently, pulling away from his rifle to look at the small laptop set up beside him. It showed the heat signature view of the south wall of the building their position afforded him.

“What?!” Sai squeaked, offended, his voice breaking entertainingly in the middle. Privately, Sasha loved riling up Sai now that his voice would crack. It was usually hilarious, especially considering how easy it was to get a rise out of the kid. “You curse like a drunk sailor that hasn’t gotten paid in a year.”

“I do not,” Sasha protested, mouth twisting at the laptop’s display before going back to the rifle.

“Really?” Sai challenged from his cushy, half shadowed spot. “And what would you say if I told you that his credit card history indicates he just bought a plane ticket? For tomorrow?”

“Блядь.” Sasha muttered angrily, rising up to fit a different scope on his rifle.

“Case in point. Thank you, I’ll be here all week,” Sai commented cheekily.

Sasha snorted, amused by the kid’s antics.

“Make yourself useful and bring me some water.”

Among much complaining, Sasha heard the boy pull out a bottle of water from the bag of supplies hidden between the chimneys, then crawl towards Sasha over the gravel roof.

“I am being useful you know, I am going for tutoring six days a week,” Sai complained even as crawled closer, bottle of water in his hand.

“And still your hacking sucks,” Sasha commented idly, earning himself a swat to the thigh with the bottle Sai was holding.

“Hey! It’s still better than _yours_ old man.”

“I have an excuse, I was born before computers were invented. I think I even remember some dinosaurs walking around too.”

“You are so not funny,” complained Sai as he passed the water. “Besides, you were singing a completely different tune when I was erasing your photos from that security database three weeks ago.”

Sasha turned to look at him then breaking his vigil over the target.

Sai was seventeen already, tall but very skinny, with elbows and knees everywhere and a shaggy mess of blond hair, curling a bit now that he kept it longer. He had bright blue eyes and a surprisingly gentle face for someone who had gone through what he had, and smart as a whip. Even now, complaining and bored, the kid stayed low to the roof to avoid casting a shadow or letting himself be silhouetted against the bright sky.

As he took the water, Sasha noticed that Sai was definitely getting tanned this summer, the pale scars on his wrists barely visible now.

Sasha closed his eyes for a second, remembering how they’d met. It was his first real memory, and unlike the rest of his past, was easy to call to mind.

Five years ago, almost six now, Sasha was nothing more than the Asset, Hydra’s fist, its mindless killing machine. He had been charged with the protection for one of his handlers, a man who loved showing off how much power he had by having the Winter Soldier follow him everywhere as his personal bodyguard.

The handler knew all the procedures, so it must have happened more than once, but the Asset didn’t care. He had a mission and he was going to fulfil it. It was all he knew, the only constant in his mind warped from the chair and the wipes.

The Asset stood behind the handler’s left shoulder, just as he had all the weeks before, in all the places they had visited. Currently, they were visiting an associate of the handler’s unrelated to Hydra, some wealthy aristocrat with a huge opulent villa in the south of France. The Asset knew these things, though he didn’t care.

No one had told him the purpose of this visit or the aristocrat’s name. Those weren’t things for him to know. His mission was to stand there, obedient and terrifying, for as long as his handler wished. It was a simple mission, his mind empty, but eyes watchful; a menacing shadow and nothing more. 

He would have completed it, if it hadn’t been for the boy.

The aristocrat, an older man with styled hair and expensive clothes, had met them on the steps of the fancy house and invited his handler to the private sitting room. There, on a white Persian rug among expensive antique furniture and exotic dishes on silver platters, knelt a boy.

He was no older than eleven, naked, fair skinned and skinny. There were bruises on his hips, around his ankles, and fresh scabs around his wrists beneath the heavy metal manacles that stretched his arms above his head and attached to the gleaming chain that hung from the ceiling. They had forced his knees spread wide and kept them that way by with piece of metal, two loops at each end. A spreader bar, Sasha knew, but couldn't remember from where. Stick-like ribs were outlined against his skin every time he took in a breath around the gag in his mouth, a black leather tie cinched behind his head to prevent the large, oddly hollow device from sliding off. Blue eyes, dazed with what the Asset assumed were drugs, stared at nothing from beneath a mop of blonde hair.

The handler and the aristocrat talked, not paying any mind for the boy or the Asset, just as he paid no attention to them. It was not his programmed behavior, it was not part of the mission, but instead of looking for threats or assessing points of ingress and egress, the Asset kept looking back towards the boy. The way he knelt, the way his knees were showing the first signs of swelling indicating that he spent a lot of time that way, his nakedness, the obvious sexual intent of the whole display.

And it was a display. A display meant for his handler.

The Asset had seen worse things done to children even younger. He knew that happened. Yet something kept drawing his gaze towards the child. Maybe it was the body, so skinny when there were whole tables nearby barely holding up under the food laid out for his handler’s pleasure. Maybe it was the blue eyes, so tired and defeated, seeming so out of place on a face so young.

Whatever business they were performing was obviously going well, his handler was smiling, shaking the contact’s hands. The contact was gesturing towards the child, a generous smile on his face, and his handler was nodding, smiling back.

Some part of the Asset was aware of the guards moving through the house, the quiet thumps of their measured steps. 

The Asset looked at the wispy blond hair, the unfocused blue eyes, and the line of track marks on both pale skinny arms.

He took one step forward, put his flesh hand on his handler's shoulder and reached his metal hand around to grip the man’s chin. The neck broke with a single sharp _crack_ , and then he was taking another step toward the aristocrat, who was already taking in a breath to sound the alarm.

One punch to his trachea had the man on the ground, silent, and choking to death.

The Asset didn’t look back, merely drew both his Glocks and left the room, moving to secure the house. It took fourteen minutes to kill all members of the security present. The household staff didn’t get in his way, choosing instead to hide in their quarters and he let them be. They posed no threat.

When he came back to the lounge, he walked to the child and reached for the gag in his mouth only to realise his fingers were red, dripping blood and ichor. The child didn’t flinch, just watched him with dead eyes, too tired to even be afraid any more.

Led by an instinct he didn’t understand, the Asset wiped his hand on his pants and reached to free the child from the bonds. He took the child, and in some way, he took himself from that rich, luxurious house in France, freeing them both in process.

Opening his eyes in the present, Sasha looked back down the scope. 

“Where is he going?”

“New York City,” Sai sang. “The tabloids are saying the mayor’s holding a big party. Bet he's headed there. I can get you on the guest list and that might be your window.”

Sasha took another look at the laptop display. Still no target.

“Do it.”

Sasha rose up a little to slide his hand into the bag resting beside him and palmed a big square of adhesive tape, carefully peeling away the protective layer.

“Get over here and spot me. I have seventeen-and-a-half minutes.”

Sasha rose, backed up a few paces and launched himself in a run across the roof. He jumped at the edge, sailing easily over the roof of the building next door. The gravel on the second scraped his face as he rolled once, twice, three times to diminish the impact energy. On the third roll he came up on his feet at a run, gaining speed for his second jump. This one forced him to absorb a drop from a significant height, jarring his teeth as he landed on the flat roof below. He barely managed to avoid slamming into a cooling unit before he had to jump down another five stories to land on a tiny balcony. 

When he landed, he didn’t have the space to roll and absorb the impact. One of his knees gave a creak and pop as something compressed in the joint, both his feet were numb from the impact, but he kept moving. Locking his metal hand over the railing closest to the wall, he vaulted himself over the edge to hang from it. Almost at the same time, the door to the balcony behind him opened. A young woman, his target’s illicit lover, came out with a cigarette and a glass of wine, leaning over the balcony to stare at the skyline as she smoked nearly right above his head.

“You are insane,” Sai’s voice creaked breathlessly in his ear as the boy engaged the communication system they each wore.

Switching his hold to his flesh hand, he lowered himself to close his hand over a four inch wide ledge below the railing. Sasha evened out his breathing, closed his metal fingers over the ledge, and waited.

After exactly five minutes, the woman finished her smoke and turned to go inside.

Sasha breathed in, counted, and as soon as she was crossing the threshold, he vaulted back over the ledge, settling on cat’s feet. Without stopping to catch his breath or even acknowledging the screaming pain in his knee, he darted forward and fit his flesh hand between the balcony doors and the frame before it could close. It snapped against his fingers and he clenched his teeth hard.

“Eleven,” Sai said, the click-clack of his typing carrying through the sensitive microphone. He sounded stressed.

Keeping his eyes on the back of the woman’s head, Sasha pulled the door open, carefully eased the sliding door open just enough he could slip through. As he went, he attached the adhesive tape to the lock, preventing the door lock from engaging and alarm from catching. After seventeen minutes, security would come to see why the door was open. He had that long get in and out without alerting anyone. If she kept to her routine, the woman would take her shower around this time, so if he was lucky, she would do it now.

Sasha ghosted after her through the apartment, exactly three feet behind, keeping himself firmly in her blind spot. He remained behind her as she went to the table to fill her glass again, then started looking through her phone on the way to the bathroom. He made sure to keep his mind blank, looking not at her but through her, making sure to project nothing, _be nothing_ , take up no space at all. Whatever else Hydra had taught him, this was the skill he was most adept at. He could shadow her, could breathe the same air as her, live inside the flat with her and she would never know. 

“ _Jesus_.” 

Sai was obviously observing from the roof, probably through one of the heat-sensitive cameras. 

“Nine.”

Instead of continuing to the bathroom, she directed her steps to the kitchen. He took advantage of this when they passed the small corridor leading to the office and bedrooms, and took a single step sideways into the office. 

The target always stayed here, at his mistress’s house when he visited Washington. Rather, he stayed in the house he had bought for his mistress as he tended to trust her more than he did his wife. Trusted her enough to leave his personal belongings just lying around.

It wasn’t hard to find the laptop as it was sitting right in front of him in the office on a massive, steel and chrome desk. There wouldn't be anything useful on the computer, Sasha knew that without even checking, but that didn’t mean the laptop itself was useless.

“Five.” Sai was breathing nervously, but steadily.

Sasha pulled a tiny screwdriver from his belt pouch and opened up the case. Using his teeth he pulled the tracking device stuck to his wrist off his skin and stuck it to the inside of the case before starting to screw it back on.

“Three,” Sais said in his ear. “Get out of there; the guards are stirring.”

Sasha carefully made sure all the screws were in place, keeping his breathing even and fingers steady. He made a last visual sweep to make sure the laptop was lying in the same position as it had been before, and returned to the corridor.

“Ninety seconds,” Sai sounded pleading now. 

Sasha looked into the main room from his spot in the hall, carefully not allowing his eyes to stop on the woman. The sweep had to remain unfocused, without any intent. Women were more sensitive to intent than men, more likely to sense somebody watching.

When he spotted her, he knew instantly he couldn’t leave without being seen. She was sitting in an armchair in the living room once more, with a perfect line of sight over the balcony doors.

“Seventy.”

Sasha pulled his phone out, unlocked it and pressed the shortcut that would trigger a text message to Sai.

 _Call her_.

“Fifty.”

A moment later Shasha head the phone which lay on the kitchen counter begin to ring and saw the woman rise to answer it.

The moment she was turned away from him, he walked through the room. He didn’t run, made sure there was no unnecessary movement or air displacement to betray his presence.

“Hello?” he heard her voice as he slipped back through the balcony door , taking the adhesive tape off the latch with him.

“You did it.” Sai sounded winded now.

As soon as he was on the balcony, Sasha vaulted over the balustrade. He hung there for a moment, orienting himself.

“Pack my things and meet me at the apartment,” he ordered, watching the street twenty feet to the right of him.

Breathing in deeply for several moments, he raised the level of oxygen in his body before he swung himself in a semicircle. At the furthest point, he let go, somersaulting through the air and hitting the wall of the neighboring building feet first. He slid down a small way before managing to catch his footing, springing away, and sailing towards the street. He landed on top of a large truck, rolling over the surface to slow his descent, and then rolled over the edge. When he came to a final stop, his knee once again was screamed in pain.

From the inside of his jacket Sasha pulled an old faded baseball cap. A trash can nearby offered an empty bottle of cheap booze. Lowering his head, curling his shoulders in, Sasha made his gait loose and a little uncoordinated. Between the ordinary dark clothes, now dirty from all the rolling he’d been doing on the rooftops, and the smell of cheap booze, no one looked too closely at him. With the empty bottle swinging lazily at his side, Sasha became no one. Just another homeless man on the street.

Urban warfare was his forte, the reason why he was paid so well for his services. Yes, the target was out of reach for the moment, had avoided him so far, but in the end, Sasha would complete the contract. He always did.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Steve rolled his glass of scotch in his hand, listening to the ice clinking against it. The plan, as it was, had him standing on a balcony staring at the city skyline and ignoring the party around him. After the third reprimand about how he was giving himself away, Steve had realized the only way he was getting through the night was by avoiding people. Since their target was supposed to find him, Natasha hadn’t argued when he’d taken his drink outside. He was pretty sure she was relieved.

The city at night was breathtaking but Steve could only stare at it for so long without growing bored.

“Starting to think this is a bust,” he muttered to Natasha. The subdermal implant they had injected him with could pick up any sound within twenty feet. There was no need to yell.

“Not yet,” Natasha replied. “Night’s still young, Rogers.”

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

“You agreed this was the best course of action,” Natasha says in exasperation. “I have a history with the Winter Soldier, or I would have just done it myself. We need this information to get to the guy who hired the hit in the first place. The Ambassador is safe for now, but if we don't find out who hired the assassin, everything we've managed so far is pointless. Don't worry, you're his type. Besides, you need to get laid. And stop talking to me.”

Steve scrubbed his hand over his face.

“This was the worst idea ever.”

“What is?”

The voice was low, a little gravely, but still unbelievably smooth.

More than a little startled at being snuck up on, Steve whirled about while Natasha yelled at him not to act like a soldier. It was hard to remember anything, however, when he took one look at the guy and his heart reacted like it still had a hole in it. The hair was too long, gathered in a modern man-bun Steve had seen a few times, the face was almost perfect, and for a single moment, Steve had seen Bucky. Everything else was different, the posture, the aura of calm self-assurance, thoughtful way the stranger’s steel-grey eyes swept him up and down, just the once. Bucky had never had that kind of awareness; he often pushed his luck a bit too much.

Stubbornly, Steve reminded himself that Bucky was dead. Dead and not coming back, no matter how many times he saw him in good-looking strangers. This man who was _not_ Bucky had little crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. Steve was oddly enraptured by them.

 

“Rogers, that might be him,” Natasha said quietly, able to see the gorgeous stranger through the camera hidden in the glasses he wore. “Just...be yourself. No lies, you’re a terrible liar.”

Her words made Steve grateful for all the time he’d spent performing and keeping his face blandly pleasant, because if he heard that he couldn’t lie one more time, he was going to break something. Probably a tooth.

“This,” Steve answered, waving a hand towards the glass windows and the gathering beyond. “I don’t really do this. I hate parties, but my friends say I need to get out more, so...here I am, talking to myself on a balcony.”

“Good,” Natasha sounded surprised, “That was actually really good.”

Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes. Briefly, he wished he could just tell Nat to shut up. He didn’t need her to coach and comment on his every step. It was like a peanut gallery from hell.

“And this is how you do it?” The man, just a little shorter than him, but easily as wide in the shoulders, gestured with his drink at Steve. “Fulfilling the letter of their advice but not the spirit?”

This was surprisingly easier than he thought.

“You must have missed me trying to talk to people in there. I went over about as well as a lead balloon, and honestly, if they’d wanted me to meet people, they probably should have picked something more my speed.”

“Hmm,” the stranger, the Winter Soldier, murmured quietly, “Do you want to know a secret?”

Steve tilted his head, wondering if this job could actually be that easy, before nodding.

The man smiled, obviously pleased with his response. The smile was a slow, measured thing, a little crooked at one side. There was so much calm confidence in this man's stance, in the way he walked forward, that Steve felt intimidated. That wasn’t an emotion he was used to anymore.

“If people see you standing alone at a party, looking the way you do..?”

Steve realised that the stranger was making his voice softer, quieter so that Steve had to lean in to hear him better. Using nothing else but his voice, the man had Steve pushing into his personal space within what, twenty seconds of meeting him?

“Damn, he is _good_ ,“ Nat murmured in his ear admiringly.

“Yeah?” Steve encouraged, caught up in the spell of this man’s tone and impatient with his pregnant pause.

“They’ll come up to say hello,” the man murmured softly. “Like I did. If you really want to be left alone, you need to plan better.”

Steve swallowed, his throat oddly dry.

“And how do I go about doing that?”

The man smiled again, that slow stretch of lips that flashed the whiteness of his teeth at Steve for just for a brief moment before disappearing when he started speaking again. Steve was left staring at the man’s lips, his mind automatically wondering how they’d taste, and quickly jerked his gaze back up.

“You need to find a partner,” the man murmured, leaning one elbow on the balustrade, “someone like me, for instance. Then you need to stand closer, like so.” The man tilted his body a little towards Steve, turned his shoulders down and forwards. All of those actions were minimal, barely there adjustments to his posture, but suddenly Steve felt as if they were locked in a tiny, intimate bubble that consisted of just the two of them.

“You look like lovers,” Nat informed him quietly, an odd hush in her voice. She could see Steve on the surveillance cameras as well.

“And then nobody will bother you,” the man finished, almost whispering, steel-grey eyes locked steadily on Steve’s face the whole time.

“Besides you,” Steve pointed out, and then gave himself a mental kick. Did he want the guy to leave? At least Natasha didn’t comment on his stupidity.

The man smirked, just a quick flash of smile, before he lowered his eyes, dark eyelashes coming to rest of his cheeks for a brief moment. He put his hand on the balustrade, exactly half an inch from Steve’s. He didn’t try to touch Steve but the measured distance seemed somehow worse, more provocative than if he simply grabbed Steve’s ass.

“Besides me,” he agreed.

Though he knew he should say something, anything really, Steve couldn’t produce any coherent thought besides noticing the blue flecks of color in the man’s eyes, the wideness of his body, and the clear aura of power he wore so casually.

“Steve,” Natasha snapped, “Ask his name.”

Clearing his throat, Steve prayed it wouldn’t crack when he obeyed.

“Steve Wilson. I’d like to know the name of the man who plans to bother me all evening.”

“Sasha, Sasha Marozov. And it will be my pleasure.”

“He’s referring to sex, Steve,” Nat injected.

Though he hadn’t been about to blush before, Steve did now. And yes, he’d gathered that, thanks Nat.

Quickly taking a sip of his scotch, Steve leaned back against the wall. It left them at an even height, though he couldn’t see the skyline anymore. Not that he would have looked, staring hopelessly as he was at _his target_. Maybe Nat was right about him needing to get laid.

“You’re Russian?” Steve asked, genuinely curious despite needing to know for professional reasons.

“My name not enough of a give away?”

Steve blushed harder.

“You don’t exactly look Russian. Italian, maybe. Irish.”

“And how does a Russian look?”

“Blond, blue eyed, big...”

The man’s eyebrows were rising with every word Steve spoke, doing their damnedest to climb into his hair and stay there.

“For god’s sake, Steve, shut up. You just described yourself!” Nat said, exasperated all over again. “Compliment him, hurry.”

Steve blinked, changing direction as quickly as possible.

“I mean, you’re not unattractive for a Russian, even though you’re not blond, or blue eyed. Or unattractive in general. I think you’re very attractive, Russian or otherwise. You’re- I’m going to shut up now.”

“Steve,” Nat sounded vaguely threatening, “look at his lips for a count of four and then look away to the right for a count of one. Then look into his eyes, to his lips and to the right again.”

Steve did his best to follow the instructions, but the part about staring at Sasha’s lips, soft and full and so very expressive, might have taken a bit…longer than a four count.

Might have been six.

Or maybe closer to ten, but really that just depended on how quickly one was counting anyway.

“Congratulations,” Natasha said dryly, “you’ve basically performed the body language equivalent of stripping naked and drawing ‘FUCK ME NOW’ in whipped cream across your abs.”

When Steve flicked his eyes back to Sasha’s, he saw faint surprise and pleasure reflected in them. So Nat was right and the Winter Soldier had interpreted Steve’s actions exactly the way she’d said. Apparently, he liked the idea too.

Um. Shit.

“They were simple directions, Steve,” Natasha snapped as the two men stared at each other. “Just remember who he is, okay? That man is a legend in the intelligence industry, and not for his mild manners. He is probably an enhanced, or a mutant. Definitely one the most dangerous people you have ever met. This is no time to make mistakes, okay?”

“Maybe,” Sasha said, breaking the tension between them, “the problem you’re having is that people aren’t listening to what the rest of you is saying.”

He shifted his hand then, drawing his smallest finger feather-light over the back of Steve’s hand before withdrawing. Steve barely checked the urge to chase the contact.

Steve’s voice was rough as he asked, “And what’s the rest of me saying?”

“That I should ask you to leave with me,” Sasha’s voice dipped low, becoming gravely and sending a slow shiver down Steve’s back.

Five seconds ago, Steve was sure his face couldn’t get redder. He was wrong.

“Thank god you’re hot,” Natasha gushed, “because you suck at this.”

“What’s stopping you?” Steve asked, his own voice dipping to octaves he hadn’t heard since the 40s.

The Winter Soldier’s smile returned and Steve’s stomach swooped. _Dangerous assassin_ , he reminded himself. It didn’t help when the man leaned in a little further, their cheeks brushing as he angled to speak into Steve’s ear, a whisper so soft it made Steve focus all his attention on catching it, body tilting unconsciously towards Sasha.

“Will you leave with me?”

“SAY YES!” Natasha shouted.

“Yes.”

Sasha finally touched him then, wrapping a large hand around his arm. It felt oddly like he was taking possession of Steve, tugging him toward the balcony door where the hand moved down to press against the small of his back. The Winter Soldier could have led him anywhere at that moment. All Steve could focus on was how warm and strong the hand felt against him, the remarkable resemblance to Bucky only making the man more irresistible. Luckily, Sasha merely escorted Steve through the throng of party goers, staying close enough Steve felt his heat as a constant presence at his side. People parted for them without trying to start conversation, for which Steve was grateful because all he could manage was walking in a straight line, too focused on the single point of contact to do anything else.

They took the elevator down and Sasha passed over his valet ticket to the man at the door. As the attendant ran to get the right vehicle, Sasha’s fingers began a slow circle where they rested against Steve’s back. It was incredibly distracting and Steve really didn’t want it to stop.

A low growl sounded, and a custom black Harley, engine now purring, pulled up in front of them. Jaw dropping, Steve stepped forward despite the loss of contact with Sasha’s hand. He circled the bike, taking in the sleek matte black finishings, only a few pieces of chrome instead of the decked-out monsters he saw more commonly these days. There was something incredibly alluring in all that muted black. It looked like a stealth monster instead of just the monsters he usually admired. This was something that belonged to the night, something that fit the man taking him home perfectly. Sasha had lowered it so the seat came up to Steve’s thigh, and he swallowed as he realized how close they were about to get.

“You know bikes,” Sasha stated, watching him intently from the other side of his ride.

“Yeah, I,” Steve choked back the words, ‘rode one in the war,’ and went with, “Always wanted one. My dad had one and I love ‘em, but most people think they’re impractical.”

Pulling an extra helmet from the saddle bag, Sasha smirked, a slow and lazy grin.

“Oh, I don’t know. I find it kind of perfect,” he drawled as he handed the helmet to Steve and then swung himself easily onto the seat. He looked back at Steve, challenging and inviting at the same time. “Climb on?”

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Natasha growled.

Steve climbed on, swinging a leg over the saddle and settling his hips against the curve of Sasha’s ass. The engine revved and Steve swallowed hard. He wrapped an arm around Sasha’s waist and the other around him at an angle, his palm pressed tight enough he could feel the heartbeat beneath Sasha’s tailored shirt. His feet found the stirrups, thighs wrapping around Sasha’s hips. It felt exhilarating to have that powerful body pressed so close to his, that unyielding line of Sasha’s back pressed to his chest, feeling even the tiniest of movements through the contact.

“Hold on tight,” Steve heard from two voices at once, and pressed himself even closer along Sasha’s back.

With a roar, the bike accelerated into the road and they were off like a the hounds of Hell were on their tail. Steve laughed, wild and pleased, which seemed to spur Sasha on. They drove faster, taking turns so fast Steve’s body felt attached to Sasha’s, as though they were already fucking. Blood pounded in Steve’s ears and he knew there was no way the man would miss how turned on he had become. The way Sasha’s heart was beating in his chest, the man didn’t feel any less affected.

Their headlong rush stopped in front of a highrise hotel. Part of Steve knew this was good for the mission, but the rest of him was disappointed that they had stopped. Reluctantly, Steve pulled away, his hands staying in contact with the hard muscles they’d found on Sasha’s torso as long as possible. Then he slung his leg over the back of the bike, shivering with the sudden chill all along his front as their bodies separated.

Pulling off the helmet, knowing he was grinning like an idiot from the adrenaline, Steve offered it back to Sasha.

The man took it slowly, still sitting on the bike as the hotel’s valet attendant walked up to take the keys. When he pulled off his helmet, his steel grey eyes were nearly black and he licked his lips as he carefully climbed to his feet.

“Oh,” Natasha breathed in his ear, “He is _so_ into you.”

Sasha didn’t break eye contact as he put away the helmets and handed over the key. He didn’t look away as he stepped onto the curb and back into Steve’s space. The arm that had taken hold of him at the party again wrapped about Steve’s waist, pulling him in with a sharp jerk, and held him pressed to Sasha’s front, the long lines of their bodies fitting together perfectly. Steve’s hands rose to press against the broad shoulders, but he didn’t push Sasha away.

In his ear, Natasha cursed and then Sasha’s other hand caught him behind his neck and pulled Steve into a searing kiss. To everyone except Sasha’s surprise, Steve didn’t tense up; he melted against Sasha’s broad frame, a soft groan leaving him as he pressed back just as hard, hands clamping down over Sasha’s strong shoulders. Natasha started talking again, but Steve couldn’t hear her over the blood rushing through his ears. Teeth nipped at his lip and Steve responded in kind.

Hissing, Sasha abruptly pulled back. For a moment, Steve thought he’d blown it as the Winter Soldier swiped his thumb over his lip and it came away smeared with blood. Then those steel eyes were on Steve again, equally surprised and amused. A pink tongue flicked out, cleaning the splash of blood that remained, as those lips performed that slow, wicked smirk again.

All the blood in Steve’s body rushed into his dick.

“Steve,” Natasha said sharply, “don’t think, just do what I tell you. Take his thumb and lick it clean.”

Thinking was no longer one of Steve’s problems, so he did as she said, catching Sasha’s wrist and bringing his thumb to his lips. Steve licked, swiping his tongue along the calloused pad, and watched everything but lust flee Sasha’s eyes. Those eyes then darted to Steve’s left, focusing again as his lip curled. The arm around his waist tightened and Sasha abruptly turned, hurrying him past a young man staring at him with starry eyes, and into the hotel lobby.

“Well,” Natasha drawled, “Now we know he’s the jealous type. You’re doing well, Steve. Keep it up.”

In the elevator, the Winter Soldier paused long enough for the doors to close before he was on Steve again. Boxing him into a corner, he pushed Steve’s instincts into overdrive for the first time since they’d met. Looking into his eyes, Steve saw that Sasha’s gaze was hard, dangerous. It really should not have turned Steve on so damned much, especially since the legendary assassin was letting him see behind that polite mask, had shaken off the professional veneer to let him catch a glimpse of the predator underneath.

The way Sasha moved, all slow confidence, spoke of a man deeply comfortable in his body, very aware of the limits of it, the strength and the weakness of it. Steve was briefly jealous, because all of his life his body had been an enemy. At first it was weak and frail, unfit somehow to house a spirit as unsettled as his. Then it was big, powerful, but instead of making people really listen to him, see him, it had only made it easier for them to see him as a weapon, a force to point at an enemy. When he was small and sick and people averted their eyes from him, he thought being big and strong would make people look at him. Well, they did look now, but the irony was that they still didn’t _see_ him at all.

Here, with this man, an internationally renowned assassin, it felt as if someone was truly looking at him.

“Careful,” Natasha murmured.

“I don’t share,” Sasha’s growled, voice as dangerous as his eyes, and just as addicting.

Steve swallowed, but the adrenaline was flowing again and he pushed into the space Sasha had left between them.

“I don’t remember lookin’ anywhere else.”

“Keep it that way,” Sasha commanded, then kissed him again. It was as hard, as fiery as the last kiss. Steve’s head smacked against the glass wall with the force used to push him back and he groaned before pushing his leg between Sasha’s, twisting his hips and shoving hard enough to unbalance the man. Catching Sasha’s waist, he pulled, switching their positions and drawing a surprised laugh from the assassin when _his_ head hit the hard surface. It was more like fighting than what Steve remembered of seduction, but they didn’t once stop kissing.

“Steve,” Natasha said warningly, “you can’t let him figure out _you’re_ enhanced, too.” She paused and added, “But he likes it when you fight back.”

The elevator door dinged and they broke apart by unspoken agreement, panting hard. Sasha didn’t let him get far. A strong arm wrapped back around him, directed him out the doors and down the hall. Finally, Steve caught on that Sasha held him like this, not to just lead the way, but to make it very clear that Steve was taken, should there be any people to actually see them. It should have upset him, but it only fanned the flames higher that were building in him knowing this incredibly dangerous man wanted to ensure no one else took him away.

As the Winter Soldier pulled a key card from his wallet, Steve let himself lean against the man’s warm side and saw Sasha’s lips twitch upward at the corners. So, he liked it when Steve let others know he was taken as well.

“When you get into the room,” Natasha’s voice interrupted his thoughts, “make sure you’re the one that takes off the glasses. If you don’t put them down right, I can’t see the room and don’t you dare point them away from the bed. This man is _dangerous_ , Steve, and your higher functioning is severely compromised. Do as I say.”

Sasha finally let go of him when they entered the large suite. It was the first time Steve had actually been in one, and he found it surprisingly tasteful and far larger than he’d expected. There were two rooms, the first a sort of living room with a modern couch, two armchairs, and a flat screen television above an honest-to-god fireplace. A plush rug spread out between the furniture, deep and a soft cream that complimented the wooden floor.

The door to the bedroom was open, revealing a huge, king-sized bed, made up with crisp white sheets and a dark ruby comforter. Against the wall, a laptop rested on a dark wood desk, and a black suitcase could be seen just inside the closet. The USB drive in Steve’s pocket started to burn.

“Ask for a drink,” Natasha ordered. “Room service. See if you can get him to leave you alone.”

That was not the plan Steve wanted to follow, but he knew she was right for so many reasons. Their plan got them into the Winter Soldier’s room, got him to leave Steve alone for a few minutes while he planted the USB drive. Then Steve would get the hell out of there because this was not part of his skill set. As turned on, incredibly, ridiculously turned on as he was, this wasn’t going anywhere and he needed to remember that.

“Could I get some water?” Steve asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Not water!” Natasha snaps. “Coffee.”

“Or coffee, that would be even better.”

Sasha looked over at Steve, slowly pulling off his jacket. Beneath the tailored shirt his muscles flexed and rippled, drawing Steve’s gaze like a magnet.

“No.”

Steve’s eyes snapped back up to Sasha’s face.

“Fuck!” Natasha shouted.

“What?” Steve echoed Natasha unconsciously.

“I think we both know it’s not coffee you want.”

“Oh,” Steve said a bit stupidly.

“Fuck,” Natasha swore. “Okay, um, Steve, you remember when you said you weren’t going to have sex? I think that plan’s a bust. You’re definitely getting laid.”

Knees going weak, Steve watched that slow smirk appear again and held his ground as Sasha stalked toward him. Every movement was predatory, purposeful. Steve was again filled with envy that nearly rivaled his lust. He also did his best not to panic because Natasha had promised this wouldn’t go further and he had never actually done this before, not that she knew that. Yet when Sasha reached him, he was gentle when he took Steve’s face in his hands. Steve now kind of thought he might regret not doing this for the rest of his life.

“Second thoughts?”

“I just-”

“Honesty,” Natasha coached.

“I don’t do this.” Steve swallowed, slowly lifted his hands to press against those impressive muscles in Sasha’s chest. “I don’t sleep with people I’ve just met.”

Sasha’s hands tilted his face back, leaned in so his lips brushed over Steve’s jaw. Shivers raced down his spine and his knees threatened to give way.

“Make an exception,” Sasha said, his breath ghosting over Steve’s skin.

Steve’s own breath shuddered as it left his chest.

“I already have.”

The powerful hands dropped to his shoulders, slid over his chest and under his jacket. Slowly they pushed it off Steve’s shoulders, sliding down to his biceps even after the jacket fell into a heap at his feet. Sasha’s lips continued across his jaw, sending goosebumps across Steve’s skin. His mouth continued to his throat, attached itself to the skin above Steve’s rapid pulse, and began to suck. Gasping on a moan, Steve heard buttons pop and scatter, then realized he’d clutched Sasha’s shirt hard enough to tear it open.

The man let out a dark laugh and Natasha snapped, “Do not let him give you a hickey! You don’t bruise like a regular person!”

Pushing one hand beneath Sasha’s shirt, Steve reached up with the other and jerked the strong chin upward, bringing their mouths back together in a hard kiss. The sound that left Sasha was akin to a growl, and Steve moaned.

“Steve,” Natasha pressed as the kiss became deeper, filthier, and Sasha tore open Steve’s shirt the same way his own had been opened, “You need to get him to fuck you. It will be easier to hide inexperience, especially if he does it from behind.”

Jerking his head back, Steve searched Sasha’s grey eyes and saw nothing but desire. Yes, all right, he could do this. He _wanted_ to do this.

“Fuck me,” he demanded.

Natasha whooped, distractingly, but Sasha’s delicious mouth turned up in a wicked grin. He licked his lips, stealing back Steve’s attention, and then picked him up like he weighed nothing at all. Definitely enhanced and so, so hot. To show his appreciation, Steve wrapped his legs tight about Sasha’s waist and heard the man groan.

When he was small, he would have hated this, but Sasha wasn’t doing this because he _could_. He was doing it because Steve _let him_. Let himself be carried into the bedroom and dropped on the bed. Then he remembered Natasha’s instructions, yanking his glasses off his face and setting them on the table so they faced the bed.

“Perfect,” Natasha praised, “I'll make you a real spy yet.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations to russian words will be provided in later chapters.

Chapter 2

Sasha’s hand caught Steve’s chin this time, forcing it back around from where he’d been looking to make sure the glasses were in position.

“Look at me.” Sasha’s voice was low and smooth as velvet. Steve shivered as he felt the calloused thumb drag over his cheek once, twice, before sliding to brush his lips very lightly. “Don’t you dare take your eyes away from me.”

The way Sasha said it, the way his grey eyes became the color of polished steel again made it clear he expected an answer.

“Yeah..okay,” Steve stuttered slightly, surprised at the causal power the man radiated. Even more surprised was how his body reacted to that power. Sasha’s gaze dropped to Steve’s lips at his agreement, as if there was no doubt now he would obey. And there wasn’t.

Steve’s heart was beating loudly in his chest. His cock, half-hard through the earlier kissing and groping, was not completely hard yet, but was pulsing achingly between his legs.

Brushing his thumb over Steve’s lip a second time, Sasha pressed harder, parting Steve’s lips when he didn’t resist the contact. A rumble of approval sounded through Sasha’s chest and he gently pushed the digit into Steve’s mouth, pressing lightly on his tongue.

“Close your lips and suck, Steve,” Natasha ordered.

Her command made Steve’s stomach swoop the same as Sasha’s had, and he obeyed without thinking. Wrapping his lips about the knuckle, he kept his eyes on the man above him, sucking gently. The effect was stunning: Sasha’s eyes locked on his lips, and his mouth opened as his breathing came faster. He wanted to draw that mouth, the cupid’s bow, and the slight peek of a tongue behind straight, white teeth. The image would never be perfect, nothing could capture this moment well enough to be satisfactory, but Steve’s hands itched to try.

“Use your tongue,” came Natasha’s next command, “over the pad, circle it, then _gently_ bite down.”

Steve obeyed, running his tongue over the digit, tasting the salt of the skin and a faint trace of metal. It felt shockingly intimate, for both of them still being fully dressed. It shouldn’t have done anything for him, but watching those lips part further in a sharp inhale sent chills racing over Steve’s skin.

As he closed his teeth, Sasha bit his lip and pulled his thumb free. Steve’s mouth felt oddly empty and he found himself licking his lips to savor the taste that lingered in its absence. It didn’t last long. Sasha turned his wrist, teeth leaving white impressions on his lower lip, and pushed two fingers against his lips.

This time Steve didn’t need Nat’s coaching, opening for the invasion and wrapping his lips around the rough skin. Sasha’s teeth clamped down harder on his lip, a drop of blood contrasting against their whiteness. In Steve’s chest, his heart beat hard enough to ache, and the chill rapidly reversed in a wave of heat that left him dizzy in its wake.  
“Your mouth, куколка, so pretty. I bet it would look even prettier stretched around my cock, wouldn’t you agree?”

Steve jerked, stunned by the sudden vicious heat in his belly. His cock jerked, wet with precome now from hearing the Russian as well as the the images those words conjured up swarming his mind. He tried to think how it would feel to do it, just to get on his knees and get his lips around Sasha’s cock. To service him like that, to feel him come undone.

It was so tantalizing, Steve hadn’t even realised Sasha had opened his pants and was pulling them off until he heard Nat’s voice, slightly hoarse now, telling him to lift his hips. At some point he had lost his shirt too, though he couldn’t quite remember when. Sasha had moved as well, now kneeling above him, fully dressed except for the remnants of the white tailored shirt framing his powerful chest. Steel eyes all but devoured Steve’s body, shamelessly looking at his bare chest, at his cock, hard and desperate now, already leaking a steady stream of precome.

“Very pretty, really pretty, котенок,” Sasha murmured.

Steve wanted to ask what the word meant, but then Sasha was reaching down and lay his palm against Steve’s cock, pressing it gently to Steve’s abdomen and spreading his fingers over it. The act made Steve very aware at how vulnerable he was, but the contact, though brief, was enough to have Steve gasping and arching, hand flying to Sasha’s wrist. He didn’t know what for. To stop him, or to urge him on? The feeling was bordering on _too much_.

“Shh,” Sasha soothed, lowering his mouth and kissing him again, all teeth and tongue and slow, easy power that Steve was helpless to resist.

Sasha’s hand closed around his cock and started jerking him in quick, hard moves that had Steve whining into the other man’s mouth within seconds. He scrabbled helplessly at Sasha’s shoulders but didn’t even try to stop him. He couldn’t. The heat that had spread through him contracted again, pooled in his stomach like lava, taking all rational thought away. There was only pleasure, Sasha’s hand burning on his skin, his mouth on Steve’s.

It was Sasha who broke the kiss.

“Roll over, Котенок,” he murmured right into Steve’s lips, “roll over and show me where you want me.”

Steve really wanted to ask what Sasha was calling him. There was something in the way Sasha said those words, the way his voice dropped, shifted into a soft growl that shook Steve to the core. It was hard to focus enough to speak when Sasha was touching him like that, but _talking_ to him was reducing him to nothing but a desperate bundle of pure _want_.

The air burned in Steve’s lungs, but he didn’t hesitate for a moment to roll onto his stomach. Steve had seen enough porn, knew this part well enough to pull himself onto his hands and knees. Heat washed over his skin again, adding to the fire growing in his stomach and he had to break Sasha’s first order, ducking his head as he slowly spread his legs.

“Wider, Steve,” Natasha encouraged.

Though his breathing hitched again, Steve did, positioning his knees as wide as they’d go. He felt more than exposed, vulnerable in a way he had never been before. The feel of his cock, swinging loosely between his obscenely spread thighs was both shaming and a turn on and he could feel his balls starting to pull closer to his body. Steve dug his fingers into the coverlet, needing to feel _something_ under his hands.

“Arch your back,” Natasha’s voice had an odd breathless quality to it, “Now look back at him. Look back, Steve.”

Twisting his neck around was harder than spreading his legs, but Steve did it. The clutch of his hands that he had on the bed became immediately essential as the hungry look in Sasha’s eyes made them weak. Again his lungs caught on a breath, stomach fluttering with invisible wings as that gaze burned his skin. Steve felt like he was drowning, unable to properly draw in a breath as Sasha’s eyes devoured him all over again. Memorized him.

Slowly, Sasha followed him onto the bed, hands carefully wrapping around his waist. Steve’s entire being latched onto those points of contact, the heat that leeched into him from Sasha’s hands. He couldn’t see it happen, but he felt as one tightened, the other releasing to slowly trace the edge of Steve’s hip, down between his spread cheeks, until his fingers pressed against his hole.

“Here?” Sasha prompted. “This is where you want me?”

The dizzy rush of cold, then hot, swept over Steve again. His arms failed in their attempt to hold him up, dropping him to his forearms and offering more of him to Sasha’s gaze, helpless to do anything but _obey_. Unable to look any longer, Steve pressed his forehead against the pillow, feeling a tremble run through his body.

“Yes, Sasha,” Steve gasped, clutching harder at the covers.

“Say please,” Natasha murmured.

“Please,” Steve all but sobbed.

A deep, low rumbling chuckle left Sasha. The sound shot through Steve, making him whimper.

“Soon, Котенок,” he promised. “First, I want to know how you taste.”

Though Steve hadn’t the faintest idea what that meant, but couldn’t wait to find out. When he did, when Sasha’s tongue traced the same path his hand had taken earlier, Steve had to smother a shout in the pillow. When Sasha’s mouth almost immediately left, he clamped his jaw tight enough it ached. Cool air caressed the now wet, heated skin, goosebumps spreading over his back and arms.

“Hmm, I think you need to spread yourself a bit more if you want me there, Steve.”

Steve floundered, his mind hazy from from the powerful reactions Sasha was wringing from him. Whatever it was he was being asked, he wanted to do, but he didn’t really understand Sasha’s words.

“Show him your-” Nat cleared her throat, “Spread your cheeks for him.”

Natasha’s explicit explanation sent a zing up Steve's spine. His entire body reacted, shivering, as embarrassed heat suffused his face. Already he felt so exposed and Sasha wanted more?

The hesitation lasted too long, Sasha’s velvet voice turning as hard as his eyes could be when he demanded, “Show me, Steve.”

Swallowing hard, the air rushed out of Steve’s lungs and he gulped it back in. Christ, that voice. How was he supposed to refuse? He couldn't, didn't _want_ to. If Sasha used that tone, he thought he could make Steve do anything. Even as the tell-tale tingle of his blush traveled down his neck and shoulders, Steve reached back and spread himself wide for the owner of that voice.

“That's it.” Sasha’s voice was soft, deep, and rich once more.

Shuddering, Steve pressed his face harder into the pillow and wondered if anyone had come from being talked to before. The Russian words were doing as much for his dripping dick as had the brief brush of Sasha’s tongue. Yet still the only touch was at his hip, Sasha’s hand there firm and warm; an anchor as his body felt like it was trying to float away.

“Sasha, please,” Steve gasped, twisting his mouth away from the pillow to make his words clear, “Touch me, please.”

“Since you ask so nice, куколка, who am I to refuse?”

Unable to see anything Sasha was doing, Steve was fully unprepared for the tongue that traced the tight ring of muscle he'd offered to Sasha’s gaze. It flicked at his hole, deliberately exposed for the first time in his life, and continued over his fingers. He finched, surprised and almost lost his grip on his own flesh, when he felt Sasha deliberately lick over the tips of his fingers.

Steve whined, desperately tightening his grip and pulling his cheeks wider still. A slight burning began at his hole, but he didn't let go. His face was flaming, the blush spreading even further as he felt a wide sloppy lick over his perineum that pushed any semblance of coherent thought out of his mind. At that moment, it didn’t matter to him how he looked, or that Natasha could see him spreading himself so shamelessly for another man. All that mattered was more. More of this touch, more of Sasha’s tongue.

It circled over and over, making Steve's breath rasp painfully from his throat. His world became focused completely on that point of contact, the hot slide of Sasha’s tongue as Steve discovered pleasure he'd only guessed existed. Then the slick muscle dove inside him and Steve lost the ability to breathe at the first thrust in and out. When he could, a sound like a sob accompanied his inhalation. Fingernails digging into his own flesh, Steve trembled under the assault. It could have gone on for minutes or hours, that long tongue dipping into him, licking him open, and leaving his enhanced muscles nothing more than a shaking, useless _mess_.

Abruptly, the hot mouth pulled away and was replaced by a slick digit. Steve gasped in surprise and the finger sank to the second knuckle effortlessly. Twisting his finger, Sasha shifted on the bed so that the mattress dipped, then carelessly draped himself over Steve's back. That, more than the finger that began stretching him open, had Steve arching up, pressing himself to every inch of the bare skin being offered him. Steve wanted so bad to touch the hot, naked skin of Sasha’s chest pressed to his back, wanted to rub himself all over him, lick, kiss, _anything_.

“Your body is incredible, куколка,” Sasha purred, lips right next to Steve's ear. “And the things it tells me, the way your hole greedily takes my finger, you need this so bad, don't you? You denied yourself for so long and now you're mine, all of you is mine.”

“Yes,” Steve gasped, surprising himself. “Sasha, yes. _Yours_. Anything, anything you want, _please_.”

The fingers inside him jerked sharply, pressing against what Steve could only assume was his prostate as that zing shot along his spine again, tearing a low moan from his throat.

“Ask for more,” Natasha commanded.

“More,” Steve obeyed. “ _There_ , more.”

“So needy,” Sasha teased, but his finger pushed over the spot again, “Did I find what makes you hot, Steve? I can feel you coming undone already, your gorgeous hole clutching at me. It's so hot, куколка, tight and sexy and _mine_.”

As he stressed the last word, Sasha pressed another finger past Steve’s rim. It was as slick as the first, but didn't go in as easy. But that didn't matter because Sasha never stopped growling into his ear, claiming him with his voice even as he did with his fingers. It was the most intense, intimate experience of Steve's life. He'd just offered his body to a man, then let that same man stick his tongue up his ass, and he couldn't even respond. After that first declaration - that surrender - Steve's lungs couldn't draw enough air to reply. All he could do was hold on, press himself to Sasha's firm, muscular chest, and _endure_.

A third finger joined the two busily thrusting inside him, and Steve pressed his face into the pillow, hiding his flaming cheeks from both Sasha and Nat. The steady stream of filth pouring from Sasha’s lips was getting to him like no porn ever had. He kept talking about Steve’s hole as if it was the most stunning part of him. He kept describing how it felt to push his fingers into the tight slick space and punctuated those words with vicious little thrusts of his fingers, dragging the pads over Steve’s prostate each time.

“Look at you, already writhing on my fingers,” Sasha growled into his ear, his breath fanning over Steve’s ear and cheek. “You are hungry for me, aren’t you котенок?” Sasha bit the nape of his neck and Steve shuddered, spreading his knees instinctively. It felt sloppy and wet between his legs, and he flushed even more, pressing his face deeper into the pillows in sudden, burning shame.

“Arch your back more,” Nat’s voice was steady and quiet in his ear, betraying nothing. “Press your ass against his fingers when he pushes them in next.”

Steve groaned, surprised by the sound ripping itself from his chest. He was hyperventilating, he realized. His lungs were working overtime, body flushing with heat and cheeks on fire. He spread his legs more and rocked himself onto Sasha’s fingers.

“God, you are so perfect like this, Steve; just begging for my dick, for me to fuck that tight little hole of yours, yeah?”

Sasha fucked in harder, all three fingers going as deep as he could get them by the feel of it.

“Yeah,” Steve admitted, voice strangled and breathless as he braced his hands above his head, arching even more. “Yes, _please_.”

“Holy…” Natasha murmured in his ear, sounding a little shocked. Steve really, really didn’t want to know why she sounded like that. “Relax, Steve. Relax a _lot_.”

Steve was ninety-nine percent sure he wasn’t able to relax any more, not in the way she meant. Sasha’s tongue and fingers had left him as weak as a kitten, his legs only holding him up because he'd locked them in place.

The fingers inside him withdrew, leaving Steve empty and cold, his ass trying to clench down on nothing. He whimpered, heard Sasha shush him, and felt the first press of the man's cock at his hole. It felt so large, a sob escaped him because it would never fit, and he _needed_ , God, how he needed Sasha inside him. It felt like the fire in him would consume him if he didn't get it.

“I've got you,” Sasha whispered in his ear, “Soon, now; it's all right. Stay relaxed, куколка.”

The pressure against his ass increased, but Sasha still didn't push inside. Steve sobbed out another breath and Sasha growled. The pressure became pain and the head began slipping inside.

“Exhale,” Natasha said tightly, “It’s easier on the exhale.”

Steve would have loved to follow her advice, really, but all he could do was let out a long whine as his body refused to obey him any longer. He’d become nothing more than a receptacle for Sasha as he gave in, letting the man do whatever he pleased. Steve did his best just to hold on, trying not to lose his mind as the head of Sasha’s cock pushed past the ring of muscles so slowly there were actual tears gathering on Steve’s lashes. It burned and it hurt, but it also topped Sasha’s body pressed against him in intensity. Now, he could feel _everything_. Every inch. The way the cock was rock hard but sheathed in silky smooth skin, how hot it was, blood warm and unyielding, rearranging his body for itself.

When his ass finally made way, accepting the widest part of the head so that it popped in, the rim closing tightly over the immense girth of the cock slowly invading him. Steve sobbed loudly from relief and pleasure. He could feel Sasha's pulse where they were connected. He could feel the weight of the cock slowly forcing itself in, making the muscles further accommodate him.

Sasha’s hands closed over Steve’s hips tight enough to bruise even him, keeping his hips up even as Steve lost all control of his limbs and slumped down. He was only distantly aware of how this must look to Sasha, Steve whining low in his throat as if he was being murdered, so limp and weak Sasha had to use the hold he had on Steve’s hips to keep his ass in the air, ready for rutting, as if it Steve sole role in life, to take Sasha’s cock.

“Damn,“ Sasha said in a tight, awed voice, and Steve dimly realised Sasha was cursing. “You are so _tight_ , it’s like you’ve never taken a cock before in your life, Котенок.”

Steve had a hysterical urge to just turn around and say that was because he hadn’t, but his body wouldn’t obey. All it could do was lie there, stunned, panting, fucking crying at the feel of that huge thing making its way deeper inside him, making even _breathing_ a challenge, much less speaking.

Eventually Sasha bottomed out, his hips coming to rest against Steve’s ass, bare legs pressed tightly to the back of Steve’s, his balls hot and tight, resting right against Steve’s own. His cock felt huge, so heavy inside him, so deep Steve could almost feel it in his throat.

“Oh god, Sasha,” Steve managed to stutter out before all his words were choked out of him when the man pulled out, cock scraping over his insides, over his prostrate on the move, rearranging Steve’s _mind_.

Sasha was making soft, growly exhalations behind him, hands clenched on Steve’s hips, using that grip to pull Steve into the next thrust.

Steve vocalized, making sounds he couldn’t even name as he felt Sasha push in again, felt the long, inescapable route of Sasha’s cock inside him. He loved it, loved the stretch, the pain, the visceral, powerful awareness that somebody else was _inside_ him, was connected to him in a way nobody else ever had been. In that moment in time Steve wasn’t alone anymore.

Another slow, long drag out and then push in, punching out whatever air Steve managed to take in, and Steve was coming, vision whitening out, spasming rhythmically, clenching desperately on Sasha inside him. His cock was spurting come in long, toe-curling spurts and Sasha just shifted his grip on Steve’s hips and kept fucking him _faster_.

Stunned, desperate, _lost_ , Steve kept yelling into his pillow as Sasha changed angles and fucked him harder, deeper, his cock stabbing over Steve’s prostate with every thrust with unerring aim, making Steve cry with how good it felt, how intense, how his body was doing its best to crawl out of his skin.

“I can’t,” Steve gasped, body still shivering and twitching randomly in aftershocks of his orgasm, and Sasha wasn’t _stopping_ , just fucking him harder, deeper, hard enough that his balls slapped obscenely at Steve’s ass with every rough thrust. “Sasha, oh god, I can’t!” Steve gasped helplessly, hands scrabbling uselessly at the bedding, searching for something, anything to hold on.

“You can,” Sasha growled, breathless and tight, gripping Steve’s hips tighter and fucking him harder, hips pistoning, cock owning Steve, rearranging him, making him cry and gasp and yell short choked-out sounds. “You _will_!” For all the breathless desire, Sasha’s voice was hard and demanding, and all Steve could do was arch into those relentless thrusts and _obey_.

Steve gasped on another push in, going dizzy with how it felt, the stretch, the pressure, the inescapable intimacy of it. He arched his back, shamelessly seeking more. He didn’t even think about how he looked, knees spread, back arched, all but _presenting_ himself. It was nothing like he’d imagined, and somehow better.

Sasha was hot and heavy behind him, hands clenched tightly on his hips, breathing hard as he fucked into Steve with abandon.

“Fuck, Stevie...so good,” the man moaned, and Steve went cold all over. It wasn’t even the nickname, the one only Bucky ever used, but the way Sasha _said_ it.

Steve twisted to look over his shoulder, everything forgotten but the achingly familiar voice and his need to confirm what his mind told him was true. Yet, all his saw was Sasha, his eyes tightly shut, hair sticking in damp tendrils to his forehead, and a flush high on his cheeks. It hurt, the same as it had on the balcony, to see the man who wasn’t Bucky, and he twisted back around before Natasha could remind him to.

Sasha pulled out and pushed in again, his cock dragging over Steve’s prostate in a long, mind-whitening thrust and erased everything but the feel of the other man’s dick pushing inside him, alighting his body with pleasure. This wasn’t Bucky. This was better.

“Now,” Sasha gasped, shortening his thrusts, curling his body over Steve. Their sweat-slick skin pressed together and Sasha peeled one of his hands away from Steve’s bruised hip to close over Steve’s cock. It was hard again, the stupid thing listening to Sasha’s orders as if they were god’s own. Sasha’s hand tightened, then began jerking him off in rhythm with his rapid thrusts.

Once again Steve’s body obeyed Sasha’s commands, the tugging at his cock wrenching another orgasm out of him. Coming again nearly broke Steve’s body, the pleasure overriding everything, every single coherent thought. His body felt like one long nerve, sensation zipping from fingertips to toes. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, blood rushing so loud there was no other sound in his mind, and his muscles gave up all semblance of support. The only thing that held him up was the mattress because Sasha wasn’t even trying to brace himself. Sasha draped his whole weight over him, gasping into his neck as his own cock pulsed and emptied itself into Steve.

For a long while, Sasha’s cock remained deep inside Steve, softening slowly, still present, still heavy, still _there_. It was almost too much for Steve, but the thought of it being gone was even worse. He needn’t have worried. Lazily, Sasha mouthed at Steve’s neck, scraped his teeth slowly over the swell of his shoulder, but didn’t move away.

Natasha had been quiet for some time, but Steve hadn’t noticed. Couldn’t bring his mind to focus on anything but the lingering sensation and the weight of the man on top of him. Even still, Steve knew on a deeper, instinctive level, he was screwed, and not just literally. At some point between the motorcycle ride and his orgasm, Steve had fallen. Hard.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3

Sasha shifted, pulling away so his cock slipped free from the tight heat of Steve’s body. The man beneath him was still shaking a little from orgasm, or something else. Sasha didn’t know. They were done now and, as he did after all these one night stands, Sasha planned to leave.

As he drew further away, Steve curled in on himself as if wounded. Against everything he was used to, Sasha reversed his movement, shifted himself toward the man, not away and off the bed. Steve was sweaty, breathing heavily, eyes tightly shut. This wasn’t the posture of a man who had sounded, had acted like he’d just had the orgasm of his life.

“You okay Steve?” Sasha asked, pressing a small kiss between Steve’s shoulder blades. 

Steve twitched at the first contact but immediately pushed into it, arching his body towards Sasha in a small, perfect undulation. Sasha went with it, rode with Steve until he stilled again. The trembling continued, but he had uncurled, as if Sasha’s touch was a healing balm. 

“Mmm,” Steve made a soft, wordless affirmative sound.

Strangely charmed, Sasha pulled and prodded at Steve until he rolled onto his side and they were face to face. Despite being taller than him, Steve immediately tucked himself under Sasha’s jaw and snuggled in. Even still, his lush body was wracked by shivers. Sasha wrapped his flesh arm around him, strangely unwilling to use the metal arm even with it concealed by the sleeve. He stroked in long, easy movements down the perfect expanse of Steve’s back, from the nape of his neck to the swell of his ass. 

A really spectacular ass that Sasha had partaken in fully, he smirked to himself. 

Steve was very tactile and very quiet now. His lips, wet and a little cold, pressed to Sasha’s neck. His hands stroked gently over Sasha’s ribs and Sasha twitched, changing position and catching Steve’s wandering hand. The sleeve covering his left arm, masking its sounds, was good, but it wouldn’t stand up to careful inspection. Neither would the scars around the shoulder plate.

Pulling Steve’s hand from under his shirt, Sasha kissed the knuckles. Then, led by the oddest urge, he leaned in for a kiss. Guiding Steve’s arms around his shoulders, Sasha made sure he put them over the remnants of his torn shirt this time. 

Leaning in for a kiss notwithstanding, the entire situation was unusual. Normally, Sasha would be finishing his shower and ushering his partner out the door by now. Yet, here he was, kissing and calming the shaken man. Sasha had even slipped earlier, after Steve’s full lips had wrapped about his thumb. He liked to talk during sex, probably because that was when his defenses were at their lowest. It made sense that he liked to order his partners around after all the years where his voice and his agency were taken away from him. Only now, lying here and lazily making out with Steve, he remembered just what he had called the man: Котенок, Куколка - endearments he’d never uttered to anyone before.

Yet it had felt right. Ever since he’d seen Steve on the balcony, Sasha had had the urge to be gentler with Steve, more playful, warmer, than he’d been toward anyone else. The endearments… he simply didn’t use them. Ever. With Steve they’d slipped out without his notice. It was good Steve hadn’t understood them; better that way.

Steve was drowsy and docile beside him now, kisses growing slower as he drifted toward sleep. His body conformed to Sasha’s in the sweetest, easy way he had ever felt. It was as natural as breathing. The silence, the pliant way he acted now reminded Sasha of sub-drop. It couldn’t be. It wasn't feasible that someone like Steve could trust him enough on a first meeting to let himself fall like that.

The kisses grew further and further apart, the trembling vanishing as Steve seemingly dozed in his arms. Still, Sasha didn’t immediately leave the bed. He stayed as long as he could, but eventually couldn’t remain still any longer. With a final little kiss to Steve’s closed eyes, he got up to shower. If he had to, Sasha could always let Steve sleep and leave by himself.

In the shower, Sasha made sure that the sleeve was still attached correctly. It gave him a completely human appearance with no trace of metal visible, and was vital to retaining his anonymity. Confirming it was still in place, he washed quickly. His body was still thrumming with energy, pleasure, and ready for more. It was always ready for more; for _action_. Briefly, he wondered what it would be like to have a lover who could keep up with him, someone as enhanced as him. But musing on this was pointless. It was useless wishful thinking and he chased it away, finishing his ablutions quickly.

Sasha stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel, and briskly dried his hair. The cloth was still over his head when he heard the faint scratching noise. It was the text message sound Sai had assigned to his own number a long time ago. Yasha liked it. It was strange, quirky, and not something obviously used for messaging.

Looking at his phone and opening the app, he read the message and narrowed his eyes

_transfer of data outgoing from your room_

Sasha stared at the text for a while, not _wanting_ to understand the message. Data was being transferred _out_ of his room. There was only one explanation and it wasn’t good.

Turning back to the shower, he opened the door and increased the stream of water so it pounded harder, louder against the tile. From a small bag hidden under the sink, he pulled out a spare set of clothes, boots, and three ceramic knives. In less than two minutes he was dressed. One knife went into his boot, a second to a small sheath sewn into the waistband of his pants, and the third into his sleeve.

Quiet as the ghost he had been for so many years, Sasha slipped out of the bathroom looked through the partially-open door of the bedroom where he’d left Steve sleeping. Except Steve was no longer sleeping. He wasn’t even in the bed any longer. No, he was dressed and fishing through the hotel’s drawers while a small USB stick with a blue blinking light was busily doing something to the laptop he’d left out. Everything in the room, the laptop, the hotel itself really, was just a decoy, so it wasn’t as if Steve could pull any useful information from his search. Still, it stung. It stung in an unexpected, _vicious_ way.

Those emotions themselves were unusual. Maybe it was the unexpected sense of betrayal, or the anger Sasha felt at himself for being deceived by a fucking honeypot that made him react more aggressively than he would have otherwise. It didn’t matter. Steve had tricked him, lied to him, and was obviously here to stop him from completing his contract.

And to think, Sasha had stayed and _cuddled_ with the bastard. He had cared for his well-being. This would teach Sasha to trust strangers; anyone, really. 

When he spoke, Sasha didn’t quite manage to hide the hurt and resentment in his voice, but he thought there was enough anger to overshadow the rest.

“Damn,” he drawled entering the room, “So what agency are you from? CIA? MI6? FBI?”

Steve whirled around, his face pale and eyes wide, staring guiltily at Sasha.

“It isn’t what it looks like!” Steve had the gall to protest, both his hands rising in a gesture of surrender.

Sasha came closer, getting into reach and staring the man down. The urge to hurt Steve welled up in him, sudden and fierce. He pitched his voice cold and dark, projecting menace for all he was worth.

“So which is it? Did you get chosen for this assignment because you’re a good lay? Ass like yours, I bet you get a lot of practice whoring yourself out for your job.”

Whoever he worked for, they clearly hadn’t briefed Steve well enough. The man didn’t back down, or away, kept his hands up and didn’t even have the sense to look afraid.

“It’s not like that,” Steve insisted. God, but he was good. Those big blue eyes looked guileless, as if he actually meant the statement. “I mean, it was, but not like _that_. Please, just let me explain.”

Sasha didn’t reply, but Steve shifted, putting himself in the path to the drive. The words kept coming but it was just stalling. _Lying_.

“I know you were hired to kill the Ambassador, but you know we can’t let you. No one is going to take you in, all right? I just need to know who hired you and -” 

The USB stick beeped and Steve turned his head instinctively towards the sound. That was all Sasha needed. 

He moved the same instant Steve turned his head, catching him off guard and drove his fist in and up into Steve’s belly, bruising his internal organs and forcing them into his lungs. The breath rushed out of him, but he didn’t drop like he should have. The way any ordinary human would. Instead Steve rolled, gasping for air, but was already back on his feet again in the blink of an eye. There was only one possible explanation: Steve was enhanced. 

That fact made Sasha even angrier, the sting of betrayal coming back full force. Before Steve could lie to him again, he charged ahead, leading with his left arm. Hastily, Steve tried to block, but it wasn’t fast enough. With grim satisfaction, Sasha watched the blow land, probably shattering Steve’s forearm and deflecting to crack against his cheek. 

The blond head snapped head back, blue eyes growing dazed. Sasha didn’t wait for Steve to regain his balance a second time, closing in and raining blows in powerful, blindingly fast combos. Enhanced or not, Sasha was breaking bones and probably rupturing internal organs even as his own chest felt tight, his breathing compromised. Not from the exertion, from the emotions tearing at his chest.

He should have known. It had all been a lie, a game, a _trap_. Should have seen it the moment he laid eyes on Steve fucking Wilson. That wouldn’t even be the bastard’s name and that made him angrier than anything else. 

Slamming his knee into Steve’s kidney, Sasha grabbed the struggling man and threw him as hard as he could. Steve crashed into the wall, bleeding and winded. Long fingers, artist’s fingers, scrabbled over the carpet and, impossibly, Steve started to get up again. It wasn’t important, though, this was the end. Sasha had won and couldn’t understand why he was bitter about that. Steve had put up a half-decent defence, but it didn’t matter how good a fighter Steve was. Sasha caught him off guard with the first blow and he’d never recovered.

“Sasha,” Steve began and Sasha quickly stepped forward, intent on finishing the fight. 

Then Steve shook his head, looked at him with those damnable blue eyes and opened his mouth. He didn’t even hear the words. The trigger phrase hit him like a freight train. Five years away from Hydra and he found he had forgotten just how unforgiving their punishments were. The pain bloomed in Sasha’s head, behind his eyes, blinding him almost instantly, and dropping him to his knees. He arched, body spasming uncontrollably, and _screamed_.

The last thing Sasha was aware of was that Steve’s teeth were red with blood.

\---

Horror gripped Steve’s chest as he stared at Sasha thrashing erratically on the floor. The gray eyes were wide, bloodshot, and unseeing. Sasha’s hands were clenched so tightly in his hair he was actually pulling some of it out. It was _awful, horrible_ , and he had caused it.

“Nat!” he shouted, scrambling to his feet and ignoring the pain blossoming throughout his torso. “What is going on? What happened? What did I _do_?”

“I thought it was just a standdown phrase,” Natasha answered, sounding completely taken aback, but not as terrible as Steve felt. ”I- It must have been bad intel.”

“It’s hurting him, Nat!” Steve pointed out inanely. “Tell me how I stop it!”

There was a kind of guilty flavor to Natasha’s silence. 

“Natasha? Tell me how to stop it!”

Sasha was still jerking on the floor, his scream morphing into a long drawn out wail that reminded Steve more of an animal being tortured than a human being. Whatever else Steve would do for his country, he drew the line at torture. He had never tortured anybody, would never agree to do it, but now…

“Tell me!” he barked the order.

“If you stop it now, he’ll kill you Steve,” Natasha said coolly. “Whatever he’d planned before will be nothing compared to after you triggered this.”

The response confirmed there _was_ a way to stop it. Before he could demand the words again, pain blossomed from a new location, far worse than any he’d felt after Sasha’s beating. In reality, he hadn’t even felt the knife go into his back. The pain that bloomed now was a result of the knife being withdrawn. Steve gasped, arching his back helplessly as his body refused to follow his commands. 

It hurt so much, he barely noticed three more lightning fast jabs. Sluggishly, Steve’s body finally moved, swinging his arm behind himself. It was clumsy, missing his opponent by a mile, but it gave him his first look at his attacker. A kid, just a teenager, slipped under his arm, around him, and placed himself between him and the still-screaming, thrashing Sasha. In another life, they could have been brothers; he had blond hair, blue eyes, was skinny as a rail, and as tall as either Sasha or him. In both hands he carried a six-inch-long knife, maybe an inch wide, and their thinness explained why Steve hadn’t felt the one thrust inside him when it punctured something vital.

The kid’s eyes were wide, wild, and his knuckles were white where they clutched the knife handles. It was obvious he was frightened out of his mind, but the way he stood, hunched forwards, dead set on protecting Sasha despite that fear, screamed _family_.

“I won’t let you take him away!” the kid screamed.

“Steve?!” Natasha shouted. “Who is he? What's happening?”

Steve wanted to take a step toward the kid, but when he did, his knees buckled. Obviously smart, the kid was on him the next instant, knocking him to the ground and driving one of his knives into Steve’s gut. The pain was dizzying, so fierce Steve felt bile coming up his throat.

Over his shoulder, he cast a terrified glance at the _still_ spasming Sasha, and god what had Steve done to him? 

“What did you do to him?!”

The kid, child really, was so scared, so wild the whites of his eyes showed around the blue. Dizzily, distantly, Steve realised he was shaking too, but there was a stubborn, determined clench to his jaw that said he would do anything to keep Sasha safe. Of course he would, he was family. Family, the reports said didn’t exist; couldn't because the Winter Soldier was a sociopath at best. This, though, was much more like the man he'd met that night.

“Steve, talk to me!” Natasha demanded. “I'm on my way, just hang on.”

Steve was strangely weak, everything becoming puzzlingly soft around the edges, but he made himself speak.

“Nat,” he rasped, his tongue feeling heavy and thick in his mouth. “Runnin’ outta time.”

“Just hold on, I’m on my way!”

Steve blinked; she sounded unusually panicked. Forcing himself to focus, he saw the dark look in the boy's eyes and the way he raised his other knife.

It surprised Steve how calm his voice was as he said, “Can't leave him like this, Nat. Please, how do I stop it?”

Steve heard her rapid breathing; she was obviously running.

“Summer roses bleeding in winter,” she snapped out finally. “Stay alive, you hear me? I'm coming. _Stay alive_.”

Slowly, stutteringly, having to swallow bile and his own blood flooding his throat, Steve repeated the phrase, fearing it was too late anyway. As if a switch had been thrown, the screams stopped instantly and silence suddenly flooded the room.

The kid scrambled away from him and toward the utterly limp Sasha, sprawled on the floor like a ragdoll somebody had thrown away. Steve watched, dimly aware he was lying in a rapidly expanding pool of his own blood. The boy the crawled to Sasha’s legs, reaching out a hand to take hold of the man's boot and shake it sharply.

“Sasha! Wake up!” There were tears in the boy’s voice, on his face. “Wake up, _please _.”__

__Shaking Sasha’s boot with increasing desperation, the kid let out a whimper as, suddenly, Sasha returned to consciousness. His body jerked once before stilling completely again. Blackness formed around Steve's vision, but he shook himself hard. He had to see if Sasha was all right._ _

__“Sasha?” the boy asked fearfully, taking his hand away from the boot. “Sasha?”_ _

__Steve could hear him sniffling between the desperate calls of Sasha’s name. It took a long time, and time was a fluid thing for Steve now, for Sasha to stir a second time._ _

__Weak and shaky, Sasha’s voice sounded completely destroyed as he croaked, “Sai?”_ _

__The boy immediately scrambled closer, grabbing Sasha’s shoulders and trying to pull him into a seated position._ _

__“We have to go, we need to go _right now_. “ Despite the urgency, he wasn’t having much luck trying to pick up a man of Sasha’s size without help. “Whoever he works for will be here any second. We need to run! Please, Sasha, get up!”_ _

__Sasha didn’t speak. His grey eyes were still glazed and unfocused, a thin trail of blood running from the corner of his mouth. His face had a sickly green-blue hue and he looked as if he had aged ten years in the span of minutes. He didn’t focus on the boy, but started pulling himself up with obvious effort, into a seated position. Standing was not something he would be capable of at the moment, but the boy kept pulling at Sasha’s clothes and arms until he had him halfway to his knees. Then he pulled until Sasha started half crawling, half stumbling after him._ _

__Steve didn’t hurt anymore; everything was becoming kind of numb and soft. Dimly he was aware he was bleeding out, dying possibly, but all he could care about was that he hadn't done any permanent harm. The boy dragged Sasha toward the door, cursing, crying and pleading all the way. If Sasha was affected by the boy’s pleas, it didn't show. His eyes were flat and hollow, like a doll's, no life to them anymore. Their gazes locked, but he couldn't see anything there, not the burning anger from earlier, or the dark lust he would never forget if he made it through tonight. That was all right, though. Sasha might be hurt, but he would up and walking and there was someone to look out for him._ _

__Even though he couldn't be sure Sasha would hear him, Steve had to apologize._ _

__“Sasha,” he rasped, voice weaker than he'd heard since the serum took hold, “S-sorry. Didn’t know…”_ _

__It was all he could get out and it took all he had left. Steve’s eyelids were getting heavy, so heavy. He let them close with a sigh, heard Sai’s pleading fade to nothing. Natasha’s voice was doing the same. It wasn’t the first time he'd been this close to death, but this was different. This time, he didn't meet that darkness with open arms. His mother was there, he still knew, and his father. _Bucky_ was there, waiting for him, and even after all this time, Steve missed him so much. He had never actively tried to kill himself, couldn't commit that particular sin, but he'd never made much of an effort to avoid situations where he wasn't likely to survive. Yet, this time, Steve wasn't ready to join his loved ones in oblivion._ _

___Hurry, Nat,_ he pleaded as the darkness took him._ _


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 4

Steve woke up to white walls and bright lights, and the ever present smell of antiseptic. The sheer relief that he was waking up at all was a little overwhelming. He squeezed his eyes shut, not worried about where he was. That brief glimpse had been enough. Hospital; he was intimately familiar with hospitals. Didn't need more than a glance to recognize one.

“Hey there.” Nat sounded tired and worried beside him.

Opening his eyes again, Steve slowly and carefully turned his neck to find her seated in the chair beside him. She looked about as good as she sounded, when you knew how to look.

“Wha…?”

Picking up the cup of chipped ice, she leaned forward and slipped one between his lips. The soothing coolness eased the ache in his throat, but he took the cup from her so she didn’t have to feed him.

“Congratulations,” she said, gentler than Steve had expected, “you survived multiple ruptured organs - two punctures to your spleen, small intestine and right lung. Anyone not you would be dead.”

“Thanks to you,” he offered.

“No, Steve, not thanks to me. You’ve been unconscious for four days, two of them in a coma. You suffered _excessive_ blood loss, multiple fractures of the arm and ribs, and all for a plan you didn’t like in the first place. You wouldn’t be here, _again_ , if it wasn’t for me.”

Steve’s whole body felt like cotton, soft and unresponsive, another thing he associated with hospitals and the myriad of drugs they needed to pump into him to combat his enhanced metabolism. It took longer than he wanted to lift his hand and cover Natasha’s.

“You saved my life, Nat,” Steve insisted gently, “Let me thank you for that.”

Finally, Natasha looked up at him and she squeezed his hand, hard. That was the thing with Natasha and him; they didn’t have to say everything to know what was meant. She knew he didn’t thank people for saving his life, and that he had _mattered_.

“Sasha?” he asked.

Nat huffed, sounding not all that pleased to hear his question, but she didn’t look surprised either.

“Escaped. There was no trace of him, or his associate. I didn’t follow because I was too _busy_ trying to save your life.”

Steve coughed and placed another ice chip under his tongue. He was very familiar with this drill.

“I’m glad.”

Nat was obviously displeased with him.

“I figured.”

They fell silent at that. Natasha was trying to bite back her comments. Steve was happy to let her as he tried to clear his mind of the drug-induced fog suffusing his senses. That she tried at all showed how much she cared.

“Steve,” Natasha finally said, “Why do you keep doing that to yourself?”

He turned towards her, all long lines and red hair, sitting with perfect posture in the uncomfortable hospital chair. So it was a serious question then, not one she wanted him to take lightly.

“Doing what? Honestly not sure what you mean, Nat.”

Green eyes locked on his and Steve was shocked to see how _sad_ she looked.

“I know why I do the things I do. There is so much I need to make up for, I don’t really have the right to refuse just because I don’t like my orders. You… Steve, you’re completely different. You don’t owe anybody anything. You don’t need to do this,” she gestured with her arm, indicating the whole situation. Her voice was the closest to urgent Steve heard it outside of battle situations.“You’re a great soldier, an even better commander; your strengths lie in strategy and tactics, and the fact that anyone you lead _trusts_ you to do right by them. But this job, being a spy, is something _completely_ different. You’re… You’re compromising _yourself_ every time you let yourself be used, and that…that is _not_ like you.”

“Natasha…” Steve protested, but she bullied right over him.

“When I first met you, I was stunned by how sure you were of just who and what you were. Of your place in life. You never doubted yourself, or what you were doing, even when you had to stand up for what you thought was right and everyone else told you to sit down. Now, I watch you agree to things that _change_ you, that _tarnish_ you, and I don’t know _why_.”

Steve closed his eyes. She sounded lost somehow. Lost and sad and angry. It surprised him that of all people, Natasha would need him to be strong, to be sure, to be her compass. More than that, it was exhausting to find someone else who set their compass due north by the direction he pointed in. There wasn’t anything special enough in him for the amount of faith people placed in him.

If it were anyone else, Steve wouldn’t have offered an answer. He would have made a quip about silver polish, or not being perfect. But this was Natasha, so he tried to answer.

“Everyone is always reminding me how much the world has changed since I went into the ice. As if the evidence isn’t right there in front of me every moment of every day. It’s not just the technology, you know? It’s the _people_. It’s what they believe in and…it’s hard, keeping your beliefs when nobody else does. My beliefs are considered old fashioned, _unrealistic_. Like a flight of fancy more than something people should strive to live by.

“You can’t tell me you don’t see it. Today's society has invented a thousand and one ways to cede responsibility. There are a million excuses for everything: There are no rude people, just people without filters; there are no hoodlums, or thieves, just kids from broken homes; there’s no reason to do things for yourself because, eventually, someone will just do it for you. I don’t like it, the way responsibility falls before incorporeal ideas, social status - everything _but_ the person committing the act. Society has evolved ttremendously the last eighty years, but in some ways has become so much worse.

“I don’t fit in, not with most people, and more often than not, the ones I get along with still find my ideals little more than naive whims. Maybe I’m a little tired, maybe I just don’t care the way I used to anymore, or maybe I’m wrong. This… I could see the merits of your plan and just because I didn’t like it, didn’t mean I was right. Everyone else certainly thought _you_ were right and I was being foolish.”

When Steve opened his eyes again, Nat was staring down at their clasped hands. There was something shiny on her lashes and he knew he’d hurt her. He hadn’t wanted to, she was a significant part of the reason he could be grateful he was alive, but she had wanted to know. 

“Steve…” she started, but Steve interrupted her. There was only so much honesty that even he could take.

“I’m tired Nat, I’d like to go to sleep now.”

She gave him a searching, worried look, but nodded and stood.

“When you’re discharged, there will be a debriefing with Fury,” she warned.

“I’m surprised he isn’t here right now,” Steve admitted.

Nat snorted, a completely un-ladylike sound and gave him her first, real smile. Well, it was a smirk, but it was genuine.

“He _tried_.”

Steve smiled at that, closing his eyes and willing his body to go to sleep. Sasha was still out there, still after the Ambassador, and he needed to rest and rebuild.

“Steve,” Natasha said quietly from the doorway, “just remember you’re not alone, okay? And I’m not the only one that would rather see you leave all this behind than destroy yourself.”

Chuckling, he flicked his eyes to hers and smirked playfully.

“Why, Natasha, you don’t want to coach me through kinky sex anymore?”

It was probably the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to him, but he wanted to see that sadness fade from her gaze. When she snorted, rolling her eyes at him, he was happy to see it had worked.

“No Rogers,” Nat huffed, “I already know more about you than I _ever_ wanted to.”

\----

Seven days had passed in the hospital before his body had recovered enough to be discharged. As soon as Steve was been on his feet, Fury had insisted on a debrief in person for the completely, horribly, failed honeytrap plan. It had gone about as well as he had expected: fucked up beyond repair. Honestly, he wasn’t sure why people kept being surprised that things went to hell in handbasket more often than not. Steve’s whole experience with the war was that everything that could go wrong would, and drag along a few others just for company.

Steve slumped into his chair in the conference room. Fury had stomped out after taking off both his and Natasha’s heads, leaving them alone because the worst part wasn’t that he’d fallen into the same trap they’d set. He’d not only completely failed at his job and ended up half-dead, the worst part was they’d gotten nothing off the laptop.

Absolutely nothing.

Well, not entirely. Steve had gotten himself a new crush, a scar, and a headache. Wasn’t that just great? Not to mention he might have developed a completely inappropriate reaction to listening to Natasha’s voice in his ear. That part, however, he was going to keep to himself.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said quietly, staring at the table, and making an effort not to meet Nat’s eyes. He had a feeling it would be weeks before he could look at her without blushing. She’d not only coached him through having sex with Sasha, she had been watching on the camera too. As open minded as he tried to be, that was a bit too much to take in after the fact.

“It wasn’t your plan,” Natasha said with a shrug, “You said you couldn’t do it, and I pushed you. You nearly died, Steve, I didn’t see it coming, any of it. I should have known he was playing us, I should have known he’d have back up. If anything, I should be apologizing to you.”

“You know I don’t blame you,” Steve managed to meet her eyes for a moment, before dropping his gaze. “And I don’t think that boy was his backup, Nat.”

The woman snorted, slumping down in the chair. It occurred to Steve for the first time that Natasha was tired. Maybe more affected by guilt than he’d thought, too, if the way her lips turned down at the corners meant anything.

“Steve, that _kid_ nearly managed to do what dozens of others have tried much harder and failed before.”

“He was terrified, Nat. Really, truly scared. You heard him screaming just like I did.”

Natasha closed her eyes, looking older, more tired.

“He _is_ young and he might not have killed before, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t trained. The way he stabbed you? Four quick jabs directly into your spleen? Anyone else would be dead in thirty seconds flat. Besides, it’s a useful tactic, using kids as backup. Nobody pays attention to kids. Nobody sees them as a threat.”

“Damn it, Nat,” Steve snapped, unable to contain his irritation. “He wasn’t backup. He’s Sasha’s _son_.”

Nat’s eyes widened in honest shock.

It always saddened him, how surprised Natasha was sometimes about simple, ordinary human things. She prided herself on her knowledge of human motivations, yet something as simple as Sasha having a family that loved him took her aback.

Clearing his throat, Steve kindly changed the subject.

“Actually, that’s...not what I’m sorry for.”

Natasha twisted in her seat, eyeing him speculatively.

“What are you sorry for then?”

Steve cleared his throat again.

“He… I might be compromised.”

Even though this was Natasha, he still couldn’t say aloud that he’d fallen for the deadly assassin. She was smart, though, and would figure out what he _wasn’t_ saying. They understood each other, always had. It was why he trusted her, even if he wasn’t sure he trusted himself right now.

“Steve, he’s a murderer. And I am not talking about the fact that he kills in a fight. He plans his kills, he stalks his victims for days, weeks, sometimes even months. He’s known for taking on the MO called ‘revenge’ killings, which means torture. Severe torture, Steve. He’s the kind of man that can calmly walk up to you, smile, become friends…just to kill your father when he comes to visit for Christmas. Whatever he was to you in that room, that is not the Winter Soldier.”

Needing something in his hands, Steve snagged a pen from the table and spun it in his fingers.

“I’m well aware.”

“And you still-”

Steve tried clearing his throat a third time, as if that would make this easier, and blushed despite himself.

“Remember when I told you I was inexperienced?”

Natasha stared.

“No.”

“Yeah. What I meant was I have _no_ experience. Had.”

“And now,” Natasha’s face fell, “Oh, Steve.”

Smiling tightly, Steve inclined his head.

“I know.”

“Okay,” Natasha stood, “I want you to watch something because I don’t think you understand just what you’re dealing with here.”

Steve was pretty sure he was completely aware, but he humored her as she pulled up the S.H.I.E.L.D. database. From a file, she pushed a video onto the screen. It had obviously been taken from a dashboard camera of what he assumed was a S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicle following another black SUV that was probably S.H.I.E.L.D. as well. They drove over an overpass and a figure in black dropped onto the roof of the first car seemingly out of nowhere, put his fist through the back passenger window, and ripped out the man seated there. The camera gave a brutal view as the man - an agent, Steve assumed - flew into oncoming traffic and was crushed by a semi.

Both drivers reacted quickly, slamming on their breaks, and the figure atop the car went flying, somersaulting through the air like a rag doll. The camera shifted, an obviously spliced image, probably from a different camera, showed the dash cam from the lead car, as the man Steve recognized as the Winter Soldier briefing landed in a perfectly controlled roll, used his metal arm to slow, then stop, his impact with the ground, the fingers of the bionic hand leaving deep furrows in the road.

Steve swallowed, unable to stop staring at the grooves in the concrete until the man slowly stood. He wasn’t hurrying, or even displaying any signs of injury. If anything, he was projecting such a deep aura of menace, it was palpable even here, in the safety of the S.H.I.E.L.D. briefing room.

The man on the screen held barely, if any, resemblance to Sasha. Tall and wide shouldered, with dark hair hanging limply around his face, he was dressed in heavy combat gear that had more buckles and straps than anything Steve had seen before. There were guns strapped to every inch of him, dark goggles hiding his eyes, and an even darker muzzle-like mask hiding the rest of his face.

The most striking feature, though, was the gleaming silver arm that drew Steve’s eyes like a moth to a flame - a metaphor that was all too accurate. Despite what had happened so far on the screen, Steve’s body had reacted...inappropriately. He shifted, drawing Nat’s gaze and making him blush because he was so turned on.

It didn’t get better. Sasha - because Steve couldn’t make himself think of him another way - _prowled_ back down the highway. Cars zoomed by, but he didn’t hurry, didn’t even seem aware of the cars at all. The driver, clearly in shock or maybe just frozen in disbelief, didn’t react until Sasha was nearly on top of him. Steve couldn’t blame him. Even for him it wasn’t every day a man falls off a speeding car and shakes it off as if it was a perfectly normal occurrence.

The driver finally realized he was going to die if he didn’t move, stomping on the gas pedal so the camera lurched forward as the SUV barreled at Sasha. Steve braced himself for the impact when Sasha lept, a seemingly effortless acrobatic move, and the camera switched back to the second car. Using the metal arm, Sasha caught himself on the roof of his target’s car and pulled himself to a kneeling position as the SUV swerved, trying to jar him loose.

The metal arm rose into the air, slammed through the windshield, and jerked up again with the _entire steering column_ in his fist. Steve swallowed audibly, crossing his arms tightly over his chest as his heart slammed rapidly against his ribs. That really, _really_ , shouldn’t be so arousing.

Vaguely he wondered how Sasha had managed to hide the arm from him. What had he used to hide the metal, not only view, but from touch as well? Steve tried to remember if he had had contact with the left shoulder for more than a few seconds, and realised that each time he’d got hold of it in any way, Sasha would always distract him. He’d turned that part of his body away from Steve’s touch, or do something else to keep Steve’s hands away.

“Christ, Steve!” Natasha shouted, shutting down the video. “The point of this was _not_ to make you want him more! You’re damaged, you know that? You nearly _died_ and you want to jump him again.”

“I’m aware of _that_ , too,” Steve said dryly.

Natasha leaned her fists on the table and sighed. It made his stomach twist to know he was disappointing her, but there was no point in lying. Not from her, not after all they’d been through. He couldn’t help that he’d always had a thing for guys with bad reputations - exhibit A: Bucky Barnes who slept with every woman he’d ever walked past.

She finally says, “Just don’t tell anybody.”

“Who else would I tell?”

“You have got to let me set you up on a date,” Natasha pressed.

Steve fidgeted with the pen.

“What was he calling me? You know, in Russian.” She fixes him with a glare, but he presses on. “I need to know, Nat. It _was_ my first time.”

Though she sighed again, Natasha gave in.

“Котенок and Куколка?” Steve nodded.” The first means ‘kitten’, the second ‘doll’. Both are actually kind of old-fashioned types of endearments.”

The fire that Sasha had lit in Steve’s belly flared brighter.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” She gave him a sympathetic smile, “He really liked you, I think. Up until he figured out you were trying to trick him.”

Steve winced; he’d thought of that more than once over the last few days in the hospital.

“Yeah.” He shook his head, smiled self-deprecatingly, “Really stuck my foot in it, didn’t I?”

“We’ll find you a nice, boy,” Natasha offered, but…

“I don’t want nice boys, Nat. Never have.”

“Damaged, Rogers,” Natasha grumbled. “Seriously damaged.”


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 5

Sasha was aware of Sai watching him intently.

“What,” he said in a flatly. It was not a question, it was a demand for the kid to say what was on his mind.

“Was he really that good?” There was an odd tone in his vice. “He pawed through your laptop; he was either a cop or competition, and you won’t even let me check him out!”

“Leave it, Sai.”

They were on top of another roof, Sasha once more staring down his scope, looking for his target in the lobby of the building across the street. Sai had finally cracked the target’s security system and they now knew he would be meeting with the security he had hired to help keep him safe. The people Sasha believed Steve had worked for. 

He did not want to think about the man, his face as he died, the way his mind had fit another over it. The way he had smelled like home because Sasha didn’t _have_ a home and he sure as hell wouldn’t have one with a stranger.

“You were lucky,” Sai went on, still badly shaken from the encounter, “He didn’t have to use the counter phrase. You could have been left like that. We need to know-”

“ _Enough_ ,” Sasha snapped, hating the way Sai’s voice was breaking, “We’re working.”

Blessedly enough, Sai listened and fell silent. Except it wasn’t a blessing. Sasha’s mind was now too full of the half-memories that had woken him since that botched night with Steve Wilson. He could remember his voice saying things Sasha knew he’d never said, see a flash of his hands as they darted over a sketch pad, hands reaching for him, his own terrified scream. Things from the past he couldn’t remember, and now he thought he’d never get answers to. After all, the man that had inspired them was dead.

“ _Sasha_ ,” he heard the dying man say again, felt the same confusion remembering the relief on Steve’s face, “ _S-sorry. Didn’t know…_ ”

Movement in the lobby caught his attention as Sai said, “They’re here.”

Shaking himself, Sasha quickly fixed his eye back to the scope and swung it around in time to see the ambassador step into view. His finger shifted over the trigger as he adjusted for the distance and wind, moving the rifle to the left to where a small redhead in a black catsuit approached with a walking American flag wearing a matching patriotic shield on his back. He didn’t need to see more of either to know who they were. The man was obviously Captain America. Sasha knew the woman to be a Black Widow. There was something in the way she moved, something utterly familiar, something that made his finger twitch on the trigger. She was a threat, the way very few people were, and he itched to eliminate her quickly and preferably from a distance.

It wasn’t the sight of the infamous Captain America and Black Widow that held his hand, though. Completely contrary to everything he knew about himself, Sasha froze at seeing that face. The man turned, offering his profile, and even with the blue helmet covering half his face, Sasha recognized him. It was Steve. _His_ Steve and certainly not as dead as they’d thought.

“That’s not possible,” Sasha muttered, his heart beating rapidly. It wasn’t that Steve was alive, despite that being an impossibility, that was making his heart race. It wasn’t that the man was Captain fucking America, or far more dangerous than he had originally pegged. The organ beat out of control because Sasha knew it wasn’t the first time he had watched this man through the scope of a rifle. He just couldn’t remember _when_ , or _why_.

Breaking his usual discipline, Sasha took his hand away from the rifle and rubbed at his eyes, a sudden, dull headache building behind them rapidly.

“What’s not?” Sai questioned.

The knot that had existed in his stomach since watching Steve bleed out in the hotel room grew tighter. Even though the memories were veiled by the haze of pain and pure fucking terror that seized him when the words triggered old conditioning, he _remembered_. He felt like he would always remember Steve’s face, scared and pale, eyes going unfocused rapidly, and the damned ever-growing pool of blood staining the white rug.

Returning to the scope, Sasha watched as Captain America shook hands with his target, watched him smile just enough to be considered polite and had an image of those lips turning up at the corners in a playful smirk he _knew_ he’d never seen.

“Why aren’t you taking the shot?” Sai pressed.

Anger flared tight in his chest. They hadn’t sent a simple agent, or an undercover cop, they’d sent someone he _knew_. Someone who had played him effortlessly. The question that demanded an answer was if Steve had known.

Pressing his fingers back against his eyelids, Sasha recalled that moment on the balcony when Steve had first turned around. For a moment, there had been recognition in that gaze, then a flash of powerful grief, before both emotions were gone. Sasha hadn’t seen that look again, though Sasha had been relatively distracted at several points. He had a feeling he was missing something, something important, but any idea he came up with was even more ridiculous and far-fetched than the previous one.

Lowering the rifle, he started dismantling it.

“I want everything there is on Captain America by the time I get back tonight.”

“Okay,” Sai said slowly, “Am I allowed to ask why, or where you’re going, or are you gonna throw something at me?”

“Steve’s not dead,” Sasha said flatly, his hands moving with practiced ease, breaking the rifle down quickly and easily.

“But I- I did it just like you showed me,” Sai protested, his voice shaking a little.

The kid did his best to sound cool and collected, unconsciously imitating Sasha's style of talking, but he wasn’t unaffected by the life he thought he’d taken. Sasha had noticed how many times Sai went to the bathroom that first night, how his hands shook and how close he stayed when normally he prefered roaming around Sasha. Not for the first time Sasha wondered if he should offer some kind of comfort to Sai, but truthfully, he didn't know how. When they’d met, neither of them tolerated touching very well, and with time it had become an unwritten rule that they didn’t touch. They just didn’t.

Now he saw Sai clench his hands tightly, hiding the way they still shook a little.

“Not your fault,” Sasha said, clipped because he was angry at how grateful he was for that, “He’s the newest Captain America.”

“What?” Sai sounded shocked, but underneath Sasha could detect relief, too. The boy recovered quickly, “What about Steve Wilson?”

“His name isn’t Steve Wilson. It’s Rogers. Steve Rogers.”

“How do you-”

Sasha interrupted because he didn’t have an answer. Didn’t know how he knew.

“ _Everything_ , Sai,” Sasha repeated, “but I want the blueprints of that safe house you found first. This ends tonight. This ends, and then I’m going to figure out what the hell is going on.”

\----

They hadn’t made it easy for Sasha to get in unnoticed. Twenty private security manned the first floor and garage of the high rise where his target maintained a penthouse. From Sai’s hacking, they’d learned there were another ten in the penthouse. Steve and the Black Widow would be there as well, somewhere. They were his real concerns, the security guards merely bystanders. They were well-trained special forces if he’d read their walks correctly, but he’d slipped in with only a modicum of difficulty.

The private elevator gave Sasha a perfect route of ingress. He climbed the cables and had climbed out at the home just beneath the penthouse, a condo that spanned the entire floor. Though the owner was home, he wasn’t expecting an assassin to break in, and didn’t have the level of security as the penthouse above. When the elevator opened, he’d just looked up in surprise at the empty shaft, and went down with a single punch.

After ensuring the man was safely bound and ensconced in a closet, Sasha had began the tedious work of cutting through the glass, waiting for the balcony patrol to pass, then scaling the outside of the fifty story building and climbing over the railing much as he had at the mistress’s home.

The patrols in the penthouse itself were much more lax, and Sasha slipped inside from the balcony easily enough. He avoided five more security guards on the first floor, making it to the second without anyone seemingly the wiser. It was, all things considered, just the right amount of difficulty and ease that made someone like him suspicious.

When it came, the attack came from his left. Sasha heard only the creak of a floorboard, the brush of cloth against leather, but it was enough. It wasn’t as if he needed to hear the person to sense movement anyway. Turning, Sasha caught the attacker’s leg mid-kick, twisted, and slammed the man against the wall. His metal fist followed, slamming up to the elbow through drywall, even as his eyes widened with recognition as Steve ducked to the side.

“Steve,” Sasha breathed, breaking discipline for the first time in five years. It seemed he was doing a lot of that, breaking discipline right, left, and center for this man.

Steve looked as wide-eyed as Sasha felt. He opened his mouth, closed it and licked his lips before speaking a single word, “Sasha.”

They stayed frozen, neither moving, almost forgetting what they were doing there.

“Can’t let you do this,” Steve said, breaking the silence first.

Sasha bared his teeth, pulled his arm free, and flung the man back into the room he had been hiding in, but through the wall this time. Knowing the alarm had to be raised by now, Sasha took off for the panic room they had stashed the Ambassador in. Behind him, he heard a curse and Steve’s feet slamming on the wood as he followed.

“No!” he heard Steve shout, but ignored him.

The layout of the house memorized, he took the first left and then a quick right up the staircase. Glancing down, he watched Steve jump, plant his foot on the railing, then use it to rebound from the wall to the second floor. Red gloved hands caught the railing and vaulted over into Sasha’s path, but Steve would have to do better to stop him.

Sliding into the man, Sasha launched a vicious kick at Steve's knee and buried the weird guilt in his stomach when Steve screamed and dropped like a stone. Sasha followed the attack with a roll that brought him back to his feet, sprinted to the master bedroom, crashed through the door, and dove to the right as a hail of bullets erupted over his head. Coming up again in a crouch, Scorpion in hand, he fired five shots and didn’t bother to watch as five bodies fell to the floor.

Smoothly holstering the weapon, Sasha rose to his feet and slid open the hidden compartment that concealed the keypad necessary to open the panic room. His fingers pressed the first two buttons when Steve’s stupid Frisbee slammed into the device, destroying it completely. Snapping around, he met Steve’s charge, blocking his punches and kicks, noting how he was favoring his left leg.

“I said no,” Steve growled.

“You don’t have time for this!” Sai warned. “There’s police and emergency vehicles already on the way. Five minutes, tops.”

Knowing Sai was right, Sasha shook himself and palmed a knife. Steve swore, bringing up the shield so it caught the blade. It was what Sasha expected and he slammed his metal fist into Steve’s ribs, definitely breaking more than a couple, and forcing the man to slide back several feet. The injury barely slowed him down, though deep down Sasha knew he had pulled the punch. At full strength, he could drive his fist right through another person’s body. With the same dogged determination Sasha had encountered during their first fight, Steve kept attacking.

They crashed together again, Steve now using the shield to protect his wounded side. If it hadn’t have been so serious, it would have been beautiful. The seamless way Steve used the shield, how he fought with it, was almost mesmerising. Something in Sasha came alive then, feeling a strange joy when he realised that Steve was actually his equal when it came to physical strength, maybe even endurance. Though wounded twice over, Steve’s body moved perfectly with his own, like they were dancing. Except this wasn’t about pleasure. Sasha was doing his damnedest to hurt Steve. Not kill him, Sasha didn’t want that even now, but he wasn’t going to put an end to this.

There was something odd in Steve’s focus though. At moments, Sasha could sense Steve’s attention wandering away from him, even while he still fought.

“I will not!” Steve abruptly protested and Sasha had a moment of clarity. The man hadn’t been talking to him, he was talking to the bitch that had given him the torture phrase. It was enough of a nasty shock that Steve’s shield slammed into his face, dazing him and knocking him back several feet.

This time, Steve didn’t rush in again. He placed himself between Sasha and the panic room, shield up between them.

“We both know you can go through me and through that wall before help gets here,” Steve panted, “But if you do, she’s going to use the codes on you, Sasha. She says she knows what they do, but she said that last time, too. You can still get out of here.”

The blue eyes went distant for a heartbeat, the look Sasha now understood meant he was listening to someone not present. Then his jaw tightened, clenching down hard in a way Sasha somehow knew meant he was making a decision no one could shake him from. Knew it like his own heartbeat, but he’d never seen that look on Steve’s face.

“Just go,” Steve pleaded.

“Two minutes out,” Sai repeated in his ear.

“I promise I won’t use the phrase again, Sasha. I won’t. Not any of them, but she _will_.”

Sasha snorted and widened his stance, lowering the center of gravity and turning so that his left arm was toward Steve. Captain America understood the meaning of those tiny shifts in position, and his jaw clenched again. The shield came up slightly, and, though his eyes continued to plead, Sasha knew he wouldn’t move. That decision had been made.

“She’s listening now, right?” Sasha said, his voice low, smooth and freezing cold.

Steve nodded, his stance remaining guarded.

“Natalia Alianovna Romanova,” he purred like a liquid threat, catching Steve’s eyes and holding them. “You should be careful with your choices, соплячка. You use your words and this becomes _personal_ ,“ he put enough stress on the words to make it clear his attempt to kill her target wasn’t anything but business.

“It got personal for _Natasha_ ,” Steve snapped, anger flickering like lighting in his blue eyes, “when your kid stabbed me.”

Sasha nodded.

“It’s why she gets the warning. One free shot, but the next time I will make her pay.” He looked Steve in the eyes, suddenly, strangely wanting the man to see him for what he was. “You ask her what I do when I feel personally slighted, Steve. _You ask her_.”

Steve never blinked, his eyes only growing darker with the threat, aroused by what he saw in Sasha, but still angry. Not afraid, never afraid.

“Sasha, please,” Sai sounded panicked. He was too far away to help this time and knew it. “They’re almost there.”

“This isn’t finished,” Sasha growled.

It didn’t surprise him that Steve smiled in response. It pleased him that he didn't let his guard down, though.

“I look forward to next time.”

Sasha felt himself grin, a wild, feral thing, because, impossibly, he did too. Before he could get himself in more trouble, though, he quickly turned and took the fastest exit from the room: the window. Glass sprayed everywhere as he crashed through, dropped two storeys to the balcony, and rolled as he hit the ground. He didn’t look, but he felt Steve’s eyes on his back as he ran. For a moment, he thought - hoped - the man would follow, but he didn’t. Whether because of the knee or something else, Sasha didn’t know, and he didn’t stick around to find out.

In the distance, he could hear the sirens Sai had warned him about and took the third exit he’d planned beforehand. The barricades went up just behind him and he effortlessly disappeared into the city.

An hour later, he was back at their safe house. Sai was waiting for him. Sasha had prepared for the assault, and as he made his way back, the kid had been busy. He had a sheaf of documents printed for Sasha to read. He handed them over nearly as soon as Sasha walked through the door, Sasha noticed Sai had left a few near his laptop too, though it wasn’t like him to withhold information.

Pausing, Sasha took a better, longer look at his charge. The kid was pale, his eyes darting to Sasha and away again. Nervous, unsettled, but not quite afraid, because he was never afraid of Sasha, despite all he'd seen the assassin capable of.

The papers could wait.

“What is it?” Sasha asked, setting them atop his gear.

Sai licked his lips, returned to the counter he was using as a work station, and fiddled with the corner of one of the documents there. Studiously, he kept his eyes averted so Sasha would have a harder time reading him. After five years, the kid had come up with some effective ways to counter Sasha’s keen perceptions.

“Remember when you said Steve was the _newest_ Captain America?”

“Multiple men wearing the suit, carrying the shield; we’ve discussed it. It’s the best theory as to how the persona has been active since the 1940s. So yes, he’s the newest. ”

Now the kid was worrying his lip, still looking away.

“Spit it out.”

“He’s not,” Sai obeyed. At Sasha’s raised eyebrow, he snatched the paper off the counter and thrust it at him, “He’s not the _newest_ Captain America. He’s the _first_ Captain America.”

Sasha gave Sai a sharp look. The kid straightened his back and pointed at the printout. Frowning, Sasha looked down and caught his breath. The picture was of _his_ Steve, standing with a pretty brunette with perfectly coiffed hair. They were both looking away from the camera, not realizing they were being watched, and dressed in old army uniforms that Sasha knew were too itchy, too heavy, but never warm enough.

“That’s one of the few pictures of Captain America without the outfit. _That’s_ the guy I stabbed in your hotel room. They’re the _same person_ , Sasha.”

Sasha swallowed down the lump in his throat. They’d known he was far older than he should have been, but this…

“Thank you, Sai,” Sasha said quietly, but when he looked up, the kid only seemed more upset. “What?” he pressed. “What else?”

The conflict was obvious in Sai’s expression, but he turned abruptly and grabbed the other printout he’d kept to himself. This was another picture, and Sasha reached for it eagerly.

“It’s the only picture of the Howling Commandos,” Sai explained. “Most were classified and destroyed right after the war to protect their families from retribution from Hydra survivors.”

Seven men stood side-by-side with serious expressions. Their uniforms were vastly dissimilar, but Sasha only had eyes for the man in the middle. The outfit was different than the one he wore in present day, but again it was Steve. He seemed somehow more carefree.

“There,” Sai said, poking his finger on the person to Steve’s right, “That guy. Sasha, that’s _you_.”

It took Sasha a moment to notice the resemblance, but it was there in the eyes and chin. Just like Sasha’s, the man’s eyes were drawn to Captain America. The other Commandos were staring at the camera, but the man wearing his face only had eyes for Steve. More than the direction the man looked, it was the body language on display that had Sasha clenching his teeth until his jaw ached. Steve’s shoulders were turned toward the man, easily letting him into his personal space, trusting. The cocky way the other soldier just stood there, as if he was so very sure of his welcome, made Sasha’s head ache, too.

“Who is he?” Sasha demanded harshly.

“We don’t know. No one knows. All of the Howling Commandos’ identities were kept classified.”

Except that wasn’t true. Steve knew. _Knew_ , but hadn’t believed his own eyes. Or, Sasha cautioned himself, Steve was _lying_. Playing a game Sasha didn’t understand yet. That was far more likely.

“When was this taken?”

“Nineteen forty-two, as far as I can tell.”

After five years, Sasha realized he had his first lead as to who he was. Somehow, there was someone out there who could tell him. If he could find him again when they weren’t trying to kill each other.

 

\---

 

Getting Natasha Romanov, as she now called herself, alone in public turned out to be easier than Sasha expected. When the Ambassador had left the United Nations early, she was part of the detail that had followed to the upscale restaurant. Sasha’s target was meeting a colleague for lunch, offering the perfect opportunity to finish the contract. The problem was that the colleague was the damned Minister of Defense, and security was tighter than a virgin's ass. This, however, was as important, if not more so: the second Romanov sat down at the open-air cafe across the street to keep watch from a distance, Sasha followed. Ignoring the urge to climb up high and take the shot, he slipped through the crowd and sat down across from her, setting his messenger bag on the table between them..

If she had been surprised, the Black Widow’s training was too good to show it. She started to shift, casual to anyone watching, but he knew she was going for a weapon.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” he scolded, coaching his voice low.

Natasha stilled, just long enough so that he could flip open the bag, flashing her the mess of explosives he had tucked inside. There was still no reaction except her gaze flicking over the components. She carefully eased herself into a relaxed posture and placed her palms on the table between them.

“This isn’t your usual tactic,” Natasha noted casually.

Sasha looked her in the eye, haunted by the sense of familiarity that was beginning to set his teeth on edge. This was like Steve all over again. Steve who wasn’t dead, who’d made him do stupid, stupid things. Who had these two been to him?

“No,” Sasha agreed, speaking just calmly and clearly enough to leave no room for misinterpretation. “I want to talk.”

The corner of her lip twitched, a tell or a deliberate ruse, he couldn’t be sure.

“Strange way to do it.”

“There are few ways to make a Black Widow to listen.”

She smiled, fake, real; no way to know. He ignored it.

“You flatter me.”

Sasha smiled a wry little smile, as much playing her game as his own.

“You know I could have just killed you,” he pointed out.

A casual shrug of the shoulder denoted Natasha’s indifference.

“Risks of the job.”

Sasha dropped the pretense.

“I want to remind you, if you start a war between us, it’s not you who will pay the price. You are Red Room, and so am I. I don’t need to explain tactics to you, what I _will_ do if you push me.”

There was no need to explain what he meant: that place had created them, taught them how to think, plan, take advantage of people’s fear. Natasha knew all the same games, the same ways to make someone bleed without ever laying a finger on them. Her silence said as much.

“I know you’re already looking for Sai. So, I’m here to propose a deal, just between us.”

Natasha’s inclined her head just enough to show she was listening.

“You don’t touch my family,” Sasha said, voice frozen, as he leaned forward, “and I will not express my immense displeasure on the people you love.”

They stared at each other, each as unreadable and hard as the other. They had been conditioned this way, and she understood his message. This little escapade was proof that if he could get to her, he could get to anybody she cared about. Oh, Widows were trained never to have attachments, but there was always someone. Humans were simply wired that way, and Natasha had left the Red Room and the KGB behind long ago.

“Love is for children,” she said slowly, unflinchingly.

Sasha bared his teeth.

“I have watched you, Natasha. You long ago left behind your days without attachments. You can’t help yourself, and I _will_ make them pay if you harm what’s mine.”

“It’s not enough,” she said flatly. “ _You_ brought the kid into this. _You_ need to take him off the grid.”

Sasha sat back, eyes flicking to catch any trace of what she was thinking. It was his turn to listen.

“I can get Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D. to back off the kid,” she offered, “ _If_ you agree to a little side deal.”

“My current contracts are off limits.”

Natasha inclined her head minimally once more, acknowledging he wasn’t saying no.

“I keep them away from the kid, you stay away from Steve.”

Narrowing his eyes, Sasha stared hard at her. The request was not at all what he had expected. It had the tang of _personal_ to it. He had expected something business related; he had expected something he could agree to.

“I would not have killed him,” he said carefully.

Her eyebrow twitched upward, disbelief in a single perfect moment. Sasha struggled not to lick his lips, to give away more than he wanted to the Widow’s expert eye. Making the deal was important, he had to keep Sai safe no matter what, but not seeing Steve again, not learning how they knew each other, was as powerful a compulsion. _That_ was not information he was willing to betray, but she would understand the motive he had been trying to deny existed.

“No deal,” he said, adding an edge of dangerous flatness to his voice. “Ask for something else.”

Piercing eyes searched his face, took in the way he let his hand twitch. Minimal, enough to give her something without making it obvious he had let the tell show.

“Why?”

“Because,” he said slowly, “I wasn’t planning on _killing_ him.”

The Widow’s gaze sharpened, focusing on him in a way it hadn’t before.

“ _Why_?”

Sasha smiled at her, his lips curving up in a passing similarity to an honest smile, good enough to fool the bystanders surrounding them. His eyes were a different matter altogether.

“Ask for something else,” he repeated slowly.

It was effortless to project his intent to kill hard at her, making it clear he would not repeat himself again. Certain things he would not discuss with an enemy, certainly not a Black Widow, whose sole purpose had been to find exploitable chinks in one's armor.

Natasha’s voice was purposely laced with fake casualness. “Are you implying it’s _personal_?”

Sasha smiled at a passing couple, his face transforming into a young charming man in a space of a heartbeat.

“Your window of opportunity is closing, Widow,” he remarked with as much fake casualness as she was using.

Natasha didn’t frown, she was much too well-trained for such an obvious display, but something told Sasha she really wanted to. It was enough for him to know she had accepted his reasoning. It wasn’t trust; they could never have that, but it was an understanding that he wouldn’t take a contract on Steve. There were very few reasons the Winter Soldier refused contracts, and she would know that.

“A favor then,” she relented, realising she wouldn’t get more information out of him. “You will owe me one.”

Unwillingly, Sasha grinned. She was good. She was _very_ good. It was the perfect request - a carte blanche favor from a man who considered human limitation as barely an obstacle, much less an actual limit.

“A Black Widow, huh. Even the enemy owes you favors.”

She raised her brow at him again.

“You have a deal with devil, little widow.”

“Not my first,” she shot back, “Won’t be the last.”

There was nothing more to say. Either she would withdraw her feelers about Sai, would focus back on hunting _him_ , or he would paint her life as red as her hair. There were very few things he cared about in this life, even less he was willing to fight for, but those he had, he would keep safe. Even if that meant he had to burn down the world to do it.

Scraping back his chair, he stood and left her there. She would dispose of the bomb soon enough, he’d thought, but not soon enough to track him. Jogging easily to the nearest metro station, Sasha disappeared in a throng of commuters.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 6

 

Steve’s home had been surprisingly easy to find. It seemed the Avengers, or S.H.I.E.L.D., or whoever the hell was funding them these days, were relying on the man’s anonymity to keep him hidden. Admittedly, they never would have known where to start if Sasha hadn’t remembered his name and suggested Sai start his search in Brooklyn. It turned out, only one Steven Grant Rogers lived in the area. They had him.

Currently, Steve was residing in the Brooklyn Heights Historic District. It was an affluent residential neighborhood which, frankly, Sasha didn’t feel fit Steve. The inside of the home, however, was a different matter. Once an apartment building with a tenant on each floor, the century-old home had been converted at some point to a single family townhouse. That same person had either lovingly restored the place, or kept it in excellent condition. Knowing Steve had been around in the 40’s, Sasha wasn’t sure which.

Since the owner wasn’t home, Sasha took his time exploring each floor. He found at least one bug in every room, though none were video surveillance, and destroyed them. To his surprise, he found several handguns stashed throughout the home, some better-hidden than others. From all Sai’s research, Sasha had thought Captain America abhorred gun violence, but the man behind the mask didn’t live up to the reputation. Or Sasha’s disjointed memories, for that matter.

Once he had completed his search, Sasha let himself take a look at the home itself. To his surprise and unease, he found he liked the place. It was very minimalistic, few knick-knacks, but lots of books and hand-drawn sketches. It was warm, cozy, and familiar.

In Steve’s bedroom, he found the photos, an entire wall of them. Some black-and-white, some in color, mixed in with sketches. The two photos Sai had found were there, as were some he hadn’t. One sketch in particular held Sasha’s attention, making him forget where he was and why. It was of the man with his face, only younger, and laughing carelessly, easily, like it was as simple as breathing.

Sasha was still staring at it when he heard the front door being unlocked. It closed a moment later, but Sasha remained where he was, trying to see himself in the man someone had taken great pains to capture. Below, he heard Steve head to the second floor where there was an office that doubled as a small library. After that it was quiet for so long Sasha considered walking to the room to meet Steve. 

Then he felt the movement at the doorway and turned.

“My guns are missing,” Steve said almost conversationally.

Standing in the doorway, he watched Sasha intently. Tension was writ large in his shoulders and legs, despite the hands tucked into the pockets of the grey windbreaker. It was the posture of a man trying to appear casual, but ready for a fight. He didn’t come closer either, keeping well out of range, learning from his mistakes.

Seeing him again, Sasha tasted once more the bitterness of betrayal. Anger sat thick in his mouth, burned in his chest, because this man should not affect him so strongly. No one should have that power over him.

“I should kill you,” Sasha said coldly.

Slowly, Steve withdrew his hands from his windbreaker. The left was empty, the right held a small black device that Sasha recognized quickly. A panic button. So apparently whoever Captain America worked for did care that their precious commodity was kept safe.

“If you were here to kill me,” Steve continued in that same even, almost friendly manner, “I’d be dead already. So I’m proceeding with the assumption that it’s not why you’re here. I mean, if I’m wrong, I _think_ I can hold you off long enough for backup. You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who makes half-assed plans, though.”

Belatedly, Sasha realized Steve was still talking because he hadn’t said anything.

“How did you survive?” Sasha asked.

Steve shrugged.

“I’m pretty hard to kill. And that’s not why you’re here.”

“I want to know who sent you, what game you’re playing - why you _lied_ to me.”

“I didn’t,” Steve blurted, then blushed as Sasha narrows his eyes. It was meant to be threatening, but Steve doesn’t look to take it that way. “Okay, so my last name isn’t Wilson, but _that_ was the only lie.”

The refusal to just tell him the truth pulled a growl from Sasha’s throat. He took a menacing step forward and Steve lifted the panic button. Stopping again, Sasha looked from it, back to those damned blue eyes. There wasn’t fear there, only caution. Two beatings at Sasha’s hands and that was it.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to get you to believe me,” Steve said softly.

Since Sasha had planned to get the truth with his fists, he wasn’t sure either.

“My name is Steve Rogers,” Steve started with a sigh, apparently going to try anyways. “I work for S.H.I.E.L.D. Currently, we’re protecting Ambassador Simon Cassell, seeing as you’re trying to kill him ‘n’ all.” Those lips twisted at the corners, playfully smirking exactly like Sasha had remembered. “We don’t know who hired you, so Natasha came up with a way to find out. It wasn’t,” Steve licked his lips, suddenly agitated, “It wasn’t supposed to go like that. Like I told you that night, it’s...That’s not something I do.”

Sasha rolled his eyes. Seeing it, Steve chuckled.

“Fair enough,” he said as if Sasha had spoken his disbelief aloud, “but it isn’t. I don’t date, I don’t go to parties, and I sure as hell don’t sleep with strangers. But ah,” he licked his lips again and blushed, “I made an exception.”

“And I’m sure it helped that you were getting information.”

“I think I paid for that already,” Steve said simply.

He had; Sasha had dreamt of him dying again just the night before.

“Say I believe you,” Sasha growled, “which I don’t, but why did they send you if it’s ‘not something you do’?”

The blush grew brighter and Sasha had to struggle to banish memories of that flush in more pleasant places.

“Uh, apparently you have a _type_ ,” Steve confessed, “and I fit it exactly.”

Sasha stared. This wasn’t the kind of intel he wanted people to have on him. What really got under his skin, however, was that Steve _still_ didn’t look to be lying. Like in the hotel room, his eyes were clear and guileless. They made Sasha want to believe this wasn’t a game, but it _had_ to be. No one was this naive.

Sasha relaxed his stance in a careful, measured way, and was pleased to see that Steve understood it. The man loosened his grip on the panic button, though he kept his distance and didn’t put it down.

“I’m not here because of the contract,” Sasha offered cautiously, not sure why he was even risking himself. Sai had certainly thought this plan foolhardy, and that was when it was only reconnaissance.

Steve licked his lips again.

“Then why are you here?”

“You said you didn’t want to take me in…”

Steve nodded, appearing for all the world as the picture of sincerity.

“Prove it,” Sasha challenged, his voice dropping almost an octave.

It was a ridiculous, dangerous thing he was doing, but he just couldn’t stop. There was something about Steve, something that didn’t let him sleep at night, forget, or move on. Something that urged him to come and find this man, over and over again. That made Sasha walk into his home and put everything at risk.

“How?” Steve asked quietly.

“Put the button on the table,” Sasha indicated.

Steve licked his lips.

“This comes as a bit of a surprise to me, but I don’t actually want to die.”

Sasha smirked, a slow, dangerous grin that made most men back away in a hurry. Not Steve.

“At which point did I actually try to kill you?”

“Here? You haven’t. I remember how fast you are, though.”

“Were any of _my_ blows fatal?”

“No,” Steve admitted reluctantly.

Sasha raised a brow and tilted his head back, showing a little of his throat to Steve.

“Come here.”

There was another long moment of hesitation. Then, carefully, and with more than a little reluctance, Steve put the panic button on the table nearest the door. Shoving his hands back into his coat, he then approached. 

Though he should have watched Steve’s body for the subtle cues that meant the man was going to attack, Sasha couldn’t focus on anything but his eyes, eyes a dulcet blue and locked on him. Sasha found he couldn’t look away from them. It was so much more than simple want, something deeper than anything he remembered feeling for anyone. Yet, at the same time, the emotions were the most natural things in the world.

When Steve was a few inches away he stopped.

“Get on your knees,” Sasha said roughly.

“What?” Steve blinked, taken aback.

Sasha dragged his metal thumb over Steve’s parted lips and the reaction was as strong as in the hotel room. Those eyes fluttered closed, body shivering. That the touch was metal, silver and not flesh, didn’t make a difference.

“Get on your knees,” Sasha repeated slowly, dangerously, “and suck me.”

Steve looked at him again, his lips parting even more, and just stared. When Sasha thought he was going to refuse, Steve suddenly folded himself to his knees, dropping fast and somehow gracefully. He didn’t look away from Sasha for a moment, eyes shy, but pupils already blown wide.

“Getting me to make another exception already,” Steve murmured, sounding more like he was talking to himself than Sasha.

“What exception?”

He shouldn’t be so curious. At the same time, Sasha could feel himself becoming impossibly hard just from this, just watching Steve fall to his knees at his command. Sasha’s heart was beating double-time against his ribs.

Steve’s lips playfully smirked at him again as his strong hands reached for Sasha’s pants, easing down the zipper.

“You’re not the first man to tell me to kneel, yet... ” Steve’s eyes flicked to Sasha’s groin, his tongue flicking over his lips, “I…” Steve was hesitating again, “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted on a rush.

If that was true, it didn’t stop Steve from opening Sasha’s pants and pulling his underwear down enough to pull his cock out. Long fingers, fingers that should never have touched a weapon, careful, _willing_ , curled about him. Blue eyes were now fixed on Sasha’s erection and Steve swallowed hard. Sasha did as well, realizing this just didn’t fit. It made no sense for Steve to be so good at fucking, be so good at spreading himself open for Sasha, and not know how to suck cock. He might not be good at it, but not knowing how to? What was the purpose of admitting that, or pretending that, if this was a game?

Purposefully using the metal arm, Sasha touched Steve’s face, fingers skidding over the perfect jaw and towards his lips. Steve still hesitated, eyes more than a little nervous for the first time, and Sasha had another realization. He believed this wasn’t something Steve did, at least not blow jobs. No matter how many times he’d used his body as a tool, this was something he was giving just to Sasha. There was something incredibly hot in being the first to have this, to teach Steve how to do this. He could find out later why Steve needed to learn at all.

“Just open your mouth,” Sasha urged. “Lips over your teeth.”

Slowly, he pushed Steve’s mouth open, sliding his fingers inside, feeling the way Steve immediately licked them, even tried sucking a little. The guy was a goddamned natural at this, but it wasn’t flesh that he lapped at so eagerly.

Sasha’s heart began to race and he came to a sudden decision.

“I’m going to fuck your mouth,” Sasha declared, fingers thrusting past Steve’s parted lips. His eyes stayed locked with Sasha’s the whole time. “Try to use your tongue as much as you can. I won’t go deep, so don’t be afraid of choking.”

Pulling his fingers away, Sasha grabbed his already leaking cock, and guided it to Steve’s mouth. Hesitation vanished, Steve obeyed him perfectly. He opened his mouth wide, more than enough to take him in, and wrapped covered lips around the head. Sasha groaned at the wet heat that enveloped him, lowered his head and thrust his hips. The slick slide inside, the way Steve used his tongue on him, licking and massaging what he could, was perfect.

“Wrap your hand around what you can’t take, and jerk me off,” Sasha ordered roughly, almost dizzy with sensation and desire.

Obediently, Steve did what he asked and wrapped one of those big, long-fingered hands around his shaft, stroking what he couldn’t fit inside his mouth comfortably. With Sasha’s size, and Steve’s inexperience, it meant almost everything but the head. Sasha didn’t care; it felt downright incredible.

Steve was still looking up at him, those blue eyes wide and dark with desire, nostrils flaring as he tried to get enough air between thrusts. He didn’t balk as Sasha wrapped his metal fingers around the back of his neck, didn’t even blink, though he was placing his life in Sasha’s hands. The trust was staggering, and Sasha found himself holding on carefully as he used the grip to guide Steve on and off in an easy pace that would drag this out as long as he could stand.

Air dragged through his throat in nearly painful gasps, his eyes locked on Steve’s. They were so _clear_ , so vulnerable and trusting, while also filled with so much naked desire. When he picked up his pace, moving faster into Steve’s mouth, but no deeper; he felt the hand currently not touching him, slowly curl around his hip. It was getting harder for the man to find his next breath, but he didn’t push Sasha away. He just held on, grounding himself and sucking, licking, for all he was worth.

“ _Mine_ ,” Sasha growled.

Leaving no doubt the statement was true, Steve moaned around his shaft, pupils dilating until there was only the slightest blue around the edges. Then he sucked _harder_ and Sasha came undone.

Gripping Steve’s neck, he pulled him back and off as his cock throbbed. The hand wrapped around him didn’t stop stroking, long fingers finishing what that talented mouth had started. Shuddering, Sasha’s cock pulsed, and he wrapped his hand over Steve’s, stilling the movement while his metal hand held Steve’s head still. With a groan pulled from somewhere beneath his sternum, he stared into Steve’s gorgeous blues, never flickering from his eyes, as he marked him with his come. Another moan left Steve, enjoying and accepting the claim.

Even now they didn’t look away from each other. Sasha carefully pulled Steve’s hand from his softening cock, tucked himself away, and swiped his thumb over the mess coating his forehead. Bringing it to Steve’s lips, they yielded to Sasha’s intent, parting and wrapping again about the knuckle. As he licked the rough pad clean, they both moaned.

“How are you even possible?” Sasha muttered.

Sparks danced to life in Steve’s eyes, lines deepening about his eyes as they crinkled with amusement. Sasha had never seen anything like it. It was beautiful.

Leaning forward, he yanked his thumb free and caught Steve by the arm to pull him roughly to his feet. There was no resistance as Steve anticipated his body’s movements, rising even as he was pulled, following Sasha’s cues flawlessly. Dropping the metal arm from Steve’s neck down to his back, Sasha pulled him tight against his side as the flesh hand wasted no time opening Steve’s jeans and fishing out the rock hard dick straining against the dark fabric. 

Steve made a shuddering, helpless sound, and pressed himself further against Sasha, hands tangling in Sasha’s clothes, clumsy with desire. Sasha couldn’t stop staring at Steve’s lips, red and swollen from sucking his cock. His eyes were unfocused and liquid with want, his face a mess, splattered with Sasha’s come, which possibly made Steve the most beautiful man Sasha had ever seen. He pressed his lips to Steve’s mouth, pushing his tongue inside the same way he wanted to fuck the man, harshly, deeply, until the only thing Steve could feel was him.

Gasping, Steve’s hands clutched at Sasha’s shoulders as Sasha wrapped his fist about the heated flesh of Steve’s desperately hard cock.

“Fuck my fist, Stevie,” Sasha commanded, breaking the kiss. “Come on, do it,” he encouraged roughly.

A dark flush spread across Steve’s face, down his neck, and, Sasha knew, over his chest. Yet he rocked into Sasha’s grip, gasping, and his eyes fluttering closed.

“No,” Sasha growled, “ _Look_ at me, Steve.”

Blue eyes snapped open, focusing on him obediently. Sasha adjusted his grip as Steve thrust into his hand harder, whimpering, but didn’t look away. He didn't look away despite the embarrassment swimming amidst the lust, clear as day on his face. The need to _possess_ this man grew as Steve whimpered, moaned, his hips jerking with abandon. Shame joined the embarrassment because Steve didn’t look away. Sasha could see he wanted to, the desire growing as he got closer to his orgasm, but he didn’t give in. Steve was obedient, chasing his orgasm and keeping his eyes on Sasha.

A sob broke from Steve’s throat and Sasha knew he was close.

“Give it up to me,” he commanded.

As though Steve’s body couldn’t resist the order, he shouted Sasha’s name and came. Somehow, he also never broke eye contact as his body shuddered violently, making a mess of Sasha’s hand and his hip. Steve’s legs gave out at the end; he stayed upright only by the grace of the metal arm wrapped around his waist. Then his eyes closed, but Sasha didn’t mind. He wiped his hand on Steve’s hip, then bent at the waist to sling his arm beneath Steve’s knees so he could carry him to the bed.

As in the hotel room, Steve’s body trembled, curling into Sasha and whimpering as Sasha laid him on the bed. Straightening up, their bodies separated and Steve whimpered again, louder, reaching for him.

“Shh, kitten,” Sasha murmured and, just like that, Steve stilled.

The shivering didn’t stop, but his eyes opened enough to watch him again as Sasha carefully divested Steve of his clothing. Gently he wiped the spunk from Steve’s face with the shirt. As he did, the artist fingers wrapped about his wrist, holding on gently. Sasha’s throat tightened, his stomach clenching at the gesture. How did Steve do this to him?

“I’m so sorry,” Steve whispered as Sasha tossed his clothes into a corner.

Snapping his head back around, Sasha had a panicked moment where he thought Steve had picked up the panic button again because he just couldn’t handle betrayal from this man twice. But no, the device was still on the table. 

Confused, he met Steve’s eyes and saw they were no longer content. The hand on his wrist shook and Sasha couldn’t believe what his mind was telling him. Sub drop, like he’d thought he’d imagined in the hotel. The absence of so many endorphins had dropped Steve _hard_.

“I hurt you,” Steve whispered mournfully. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay, doll,” he murmured, “I forgive you. It’s okay.”

“Stay,” Steve choked out, “Please, stay.”

Any thought of leaving now vanished. Sasha leaned forward, framing Steve’s face with his hands. Shuddering, Steve pressed hard against the metal one, making Sasha’s heart skip.

“As long as you need,” he promised before he could second guess himself, or Steve.

Drawing in another shuddering breath, Steve tugged at his wrist and Sasha let out a chuckle.

“Let me undress first.”

It turned out to be more of a trial than Sasha expected. Steve started shaking if he couldn’t touch him somehow. Getting out of the casual clothing he’d worn in case he needed to disappear into the city’s crowds took so long he grew impatient, but eventually was as naked as Steve, and crawled into the large bed. Steve let him get settled, then rolled his huge frame into the circle of Sasha’s arms as though he’d always belonged there. Maybe, Sasha thought, he had.

Nearly twenty minutes passed before Steve spoke again, but Sasha didn’t feel restless this time. Their legs tangled together, metal hand carefully stroking along Steve’s ribs, and he felt Steve still under his touch again. As the minutes dragged on, Steve was calming more and more. Now he was completely limp, boneless, in Sasha’s arms. Trusting him again.

“Is it always so...intense?” Steve asked, voice low and rough.

“Is what?” Sasha clarified.

“Is…” Steve licked his lips, opening his eyes and they weren’t as tired as Sasha expected. “After sex, is it always so draining? I’m better now, but right after it’s like I’ve been hit by a car.”

Sasha scowled.

“How do you not know?”

A soft laugh left Steve as he smiled, slow and sweet.

“Believe it or not,” he said with a slight blush, “You’re the only man, or woman, I’ve ever been to bed with.”

Sasha’s stomach swooped, despite the sheer improbability of the statement.

“I don’t like being lied to, especially by you.”

“Good thing I’m always honest,” Steve retorted, holding Sasha’s gaze.

“Except all the times you’re not?” Sasha shot back instantly.

Steve grinned at him, unrepentant and uncomplicatedly happy.

“Yeah, except then. Sasha, I will always be honest with you, I swear.”

The blue eyes were again clear, open, truthful and _no_ , that wasn’t possible. Steve could not have been a virgin before they’d met.

“I fucked you,” Sasha growled, strangely unsettled. “You… You-” were so tight, too tight, shy and hesitant at all the wrong times. That’s what had convinced Sasha to fall into bed with the man in the first place, but looked at in this light it made sense.

Steve raised an eyebrow at Sasha’s silence.

“No one?” Sasha asked in disbelief.

“No one,” Steve said gently. “I told you, it - what happened - I don’t regret it, but that wasn’t the plan. I was specifically told there would be no sex.”

“By who?”

“Natasha,” Steve chuckled. “Never heard her swear so much when you refused to get me coffee. I think she thought she was letting me down.”

“You’re telling me,” Sasha tested the words carefully, “you had sex for the first time with _me_ and a Widow in your ear?”

Steve rolled his eyes and chuckled at the same time, embarrassed and fondly exasperated.

“You say that like being with you wasn’t mind blowing.”

Sasha tilted Steve’s chin up with a finger, then brushed the tip along his jaw and up, over and around his eyes.

“You’re somethin’ else,” he murmured.

That earned him another chuckle.

“Says the man with the metal arm.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“God, no,” Steve’s stated firmly.

Sitting up a little, he brought up his hand, hovering over the scars outlining the joining of metal and flesh on Sasha’s shoulder.

“May I?” he murmured.

Swallowing thickly, Sasha nodded. It was too much, just the act of Steve _asking_ before touching him. They’d had sex twice, were curled up together, but he hadn’t taken any liberties. It was already too much, and then Steve’s fingertips began carefully tracing the scars Hydra had left on his skin. His expression was rapt, eyes sparkling once more as they followed his fingers, touching everywhere Sasha had always thought he’d hate to feel contact. It was freeing though, as though Steve’s touch erased the stain Hydra had left.

When Steve’s hand moved to the arm itself, he shivered. The plates responded, clicking and adjusting as if that somehow made Steve’s touch affect him less. Startled, the fingers lifted, but not before he saw the way Steve’s eyes darkened.

“You like it,” Sasha breathed.

Flushing, Steve’s head moved in a sheepish nod.

“Seems so.” Clearing his throat, Steve met Sasha’s gaze again. “Think, um, that you could go again?”

Like a match to tinder, Steve’s words brought Sasha’s arousal blazing back to life.

“Thought you’d never ask.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our wonderful, irreplaceable beta is NurseDarry; all hail the endlessly patient woman.

Chapter 7

Pushing Steve back down and climbing on top of him was easy as breathing. That big golden body followed Sasha’s cues now as perfectly as it had the times before. Using his metal arm to brace himself on the bed - it never tired and was frankly perfect for this - Sasha took hold of Steve’s knee with the other. The joint was oddly bony and vulnerable in his hand as he pushed it to the side, exposing Steve completely. Immediately, Steve blushed, a rosy hue covering his face, neck and crawling down his chest.

Sasha settled himself easily, pressing his own cock to Steve’s quickly hardening one.

“Jesus, no wonder you had me fuck you from behind,” Sasha said deliberately crude so he could enjoy the way Steve flushed harder. “It's so clear on your face you love it.”

Sasha pressed a line of hard, sucking kisses to Steve's neck. Moving his flesh hand to Steve’s cock, giving him a few lazy stokes, Sasha enjoyed how Steve tried to wrap himself around him. Soon he abandoned Steve’s eager cock and moved down between Steve's legs. Sasha found his tight little hole and simply caressed it in easy little sweeps of his fingertips and Steve gasped and bucked against him, immediately spreading himself more to give Sasha better access to his body.

“Easy there kitten,” Sasha chided. “You got any supplies?” At the blank look on Steve’s face, he clarified, “Lube?” 

“The, ah, bedside drawer,” Steve stuttered.

Sasha fit his thumb under Steve's balls and pressed against his perineum, massaging Steve's prostate in firm, hard strokes. Not once did he stop touching his hole, watching as Steve’s body tensed, twitched, with every stroke. His hips jerked helplessly towards Sasha as his muscles betrayed him.

“Then you better get it, kitten,” Sasha said, smiling dangerously, massaging harder.

“What?” Steve gasped, then shuddered violently when Sasha got the angle particularly good. “Oh, _fuck_ , Sasha.”

Slowly, he shifted to kneel more firmly between Steve’s obscenely spread knees, and kept massaging for all he was worth. Sasha hit the right angle every time because he was a fucking sniper, and precision was his middle name.

Swallowing hard, Steve made a second valiant effort to stretch himself towards the bedside table, but the way his body kept twitching at every press of Sasha’s thumb against his perineum was making actual coordination impossible. Sasha merely watched the way Steve tried and failed, his body flushed a warm, lush pink color as his chest heaved. The heavy breaths made Steve’s frankly stunning pecs even more noticeable.

“Jesus, Steve, your fucking tits are incredible,” he rasped.

Freeing his metal hand, Sasha reached for one straining, ridiculously defined pec. Grinning, he grabbed it the way he would a woman’s breast and squeezed. The flesh in his hand was golden-pink against the silver gleam of his fingers, and it looked _stunning_.

“They’re not ‘tits’!” Steve protested, voice pitched higher than usual. He was still not capable of getting into the bedside table.

Sasha chuckled at the bright red flush suffusing Steve’s cheeks.

“Oh, they are, doll. You have a pair of fucking perfect tits. Look, I can barely fit my hand around it.”

Sasha kneaded a little, making Steve’s muscle bunch up in his hand to strain against the skin. Leaning over, he closed his mouth over the prettily-framed nipple peeking up between his fingers. Letting out a short, aborted cry, Steve’s hands grabbed onto Sasha’s shoulders. His fingers dug deep grooves into Sasha’s back that immediately began to heal. Sasha licked, sucked, and bit at any flesh on Steve’s chest he could reach, and he could reach a lot. The entire time, he massaged the pec mercilessly, he continued his relentless assault on Steve’s prostate.

“Get the lube,” Sasha ordered again, briefly lifting his mouth before returning to mauling Steve’s nipples. He scraped his teeth over one, then the other, making them wet, red, swollen, and sensitive. Steve thrashed under him, twisting his body, but Sasha just followed his movements until Steve was cursing and begging in the same breath. This time, Steve kept straining, reaching, and almost slammed the tiny lube bottle into Sasha’s face when he finally got ahold of it.

Taking the offering, Sasha straightened out on his knees again, pleased with what he’d done to Steve. He lay on his back red-faced and panting, chest slick with Sasha’s saliva, and littered with bite marks. Both nipples were very swollen, standing up smartly from the pretty pecs. Sasha licked his lips slowly at the sight. Immediately, Steve’s eyes focused on his mouth.

“Look at how wet you are, kitten, you love me playing with your tits,” Sasha rasped, his throat dry, voice already shot to hell.

Steve flushed even more, cock jerking and spilling more precome. Half of the flush on his face was from shame alone, and Sasha decided Steve really liked riding that edge of shame when fucking.

For the moment, Sasha let up on torturing Steve’s prostate, needing both hands to open the bottle and slick his fingers. There was no whimper of protest this time, but Sasha wasn’t surprised. Steve looked fucked-out already, face red, chest heaving, eyes wide and wild with lust. His cock was hard and desperate, lying against his belly in a pool of his own precome.

Sasha licked his lips again.

“Spread your knees for me, kitten.”

Though he tossed his head to the side, his flush growing increasingly darker, Steve complied, spreading them as far as he could. Sasha smirked, bending down to place a kiss on the closest knee as he slicked his fingers. Pressing one inside Steve, he watched him gasp and arch, displaying no discomfort. So, Sasha pulled out and pressed in two. This time, his fingers went in with more difficulty. Around them, Sasha could feel how the walls of Steve’s ass stretched and fluttered around his fingers. He was so tight, so fucking tight it seemed impossible he had ever been fucked before.

“Please,” Steve gasped, tilting his hips up towards Sasha in a shameless, filthy display.

Sasha’s hands _shook_ with need at the sight, but Steve wasn’t ready. By the time he’d done the work needed to get Steve there, he felt as needy as Steve _looked_. Quickly, he pulled out his fingers and slicked up his own cock. The sensation was so intense Sasha found himself clenching his jaw in order to finish. Finally, he put the head against Steve’s hole, now pink, a little swollen, and so wet. With care counterintuitive to the urgency in his groin, Sasha pushed his hips forwards just enough to strain the entrance to Steve’s body, but not hard enough to breach him. He stared at Steve’s hole, pressing harder and watching as it stretched around him. The rim gripped Sasha’s cock almost angrily as he pressed, then backed off again and again. Steve gasped every time, hands scrabbling at his back and shoulders, scratching welts that healed as fast as he could make them into Sasha’s skin.

Eventually, Steve couldn’t stand it any more. He flailed, grabbing hold of Sasha’s metal arm and squeezed for all he was worth.

“Please! God, _Sasha_ , don’t tease me, _please_.”

“You want something, kitten?”

Sasha pushed against Steve’s hole again, halting just shy of pushing in again. The rim pulsed against him, and he felt Steve try to force him inside.

Steve was all but sobbing now.

“God, _please_ , Sasha-.”

“Please what?” Sasha repeated, feeling his own heart beating like mad in his chest. He was so hard already. There was a chance he wouldn’t last when he finally did fuck Steve like they both wanted.

Steve gasped as if somebody was choking him. The hand on his metal one squeezed hard enough that he would have broken bone if it was made of flesh.

Steve pleaded, saying the words Sasha was waiting for, “Please, put your cock inside me. _Now_. Right _now_.”

Sasha grinned, a feral thing, before he shifted his metal hand to catch Steve’s wrist. Pushing it up over Steve’s head, he kept his cock firmly pressed against that slick little hole, offering pressure but no relief. They both wanted this, burned for it, but not yet. Not quite yet.

”Give me your hands,” he rasped, throat painfully dry.

Steve’s hand on his shoulder tightened, his chest heaving, before swallowing hard and swung his arm clumsily over his head. It was shaking as he brought it next to the other, then tightened into a fist as Sasha closed his metal fingers over the crossed wrists. The arm made a small click-claking sound as it recalibrated into a locking pattern, making the grip unbreakable. Instantly, Steve’s eyes darkened at the sound, or the position, or both. It didn’t matter as his eyes focused on the metal with desperate desire. Slowly, Sasha rested most of his weight on the metal arm, relishing in the knowledge that Steve could _take_ it. He could take whatever Sasha dished out.

Then, and only then, did Sasha finally push in, slowly, not stopping until he was buried in Steve to the hilt. As he sank in, Steve made a choked, drawn out noise. His body clenched down so hard on Sasha it was almost painful. Slowly, against his body’s own desires, Sasha pulled back out until the head popped free of Steve’s body.

A mournful, shocked little sound left Steve’s chest. Hearing it, Sasha lowered his head and closed his teeth around the nearest nipple. His flesh hand directed his cock to Steve’s hole again, breaching him once more. He thrust slowly, one long, slow push that tore a wail from Steve’s throat. He arched and thrashed, wrists straining against Sasha’s hold.

Biting down on the nipple in his mouth, Sasha growled and held on when Steve finally quieted. This was enough to keep Steve still as he pulled out completely a third time. Then Steve broke, sobbing and begging incoherently. Powerful arms strained so hard against Sasha’s grip the arm whined with effort. Sasha shifted, hoping he would be able to keep the angle right, and wrapped his lube-slick hand around Steve’s cock. As he pushed into Steve as deeply as he could go, he gave his cock a tight, hard squeeze.

It was too much for Steve. The muscular body arched one last time, clenching so hard on Sasha it hurt, and he came with a breathless shout. The release was powerful, spilling all over Steve’s chest and hitting Sasha’s cheek with a few drops as well. Around him, Sasha could feel Steve relaxing, tensing, muscles fluttering spasmodically. His thighs clenched so tightly on Sasha’s hips it felt as if they were one person.

Letting go of his control, releasing Steve's arms, Sasha braced himself on the bed. Lowering his head, he allowed himself to fuck Steve like he had always wanted to with a partner. His hips pistoned in and out with as much power as he was capable of. Being enhanced, that was a _lot_. Steve cried out at each ferocious thrust, his arms returning to lock around Sasha’s shoulders. Strong hands scratched deep into Sasha’s back as Steve made choked little shouts every time Sasha thrust in, his body twitching and thrashing as Sasha chased his release.

It didn’t take long. Pressing himself as deeply as possible into Steve, he spilled into that tight, fucking perfect ass.

This time, there was no thought to leaving. Sasha wrapped Steve in his arms, knowing he was in trouble when his heart skipped a beat to feel Steve melt against him. Sasha couldn’t quite stop touching him. He ran his hands over the smooth back, the long, tightly-muscled legs, anything and everything he could reach. He paid special attention his new obsession, Steve’s pert ass. Almost without thought he slipped his finger between the cheeks, the pad finding the now-swollen hole and stroking over it.

In his arms, Steve twitched at the contact, but didn’t stop him. Encouraged, Sasha pressed two fingers into the abused hole. They went in easy, slipping on lube as come dripped onto Steve’s thighs. Shuddering, Steve pressed his face against Sasha’s neck, his whole body, sweaty and hot against Sasha’s skin. He wasn’t even moving the fingers much, just keeping them stuffed inside.

“You like it,” Sasha rasped, “Like being filled, having that tight little hole of yours stretched, don't you?”

Steve kept shuddering, but he wasn’t stopping Sasha either. The thought of giving this up was unacceptable. Steve was _his_.

Wary of the fact Steve had to be really sore by now, Sasha carefully pulled his fingers out. Then he pressed back in with three. It wasn’t as easy, and Steve groaned into his neck, tensing, but Sasha pushed them all the way in. Steve’s hand flew up to lock on Sasha’s ribs, fingers digging in painfully.

“Oh,” he breathed into Sasha’s jaw, breath hot and wet fanning over Sasha’s neck. “ _Oh_.”

“I like it too,” Sasha admitted, pushing a bit deeper.

Keeping his fingers there, just barely curling them to avoid the overstimulated prostate, he enjoyed the feel of the silken wall fluttering and clenching about the digits. Unable to reach Steve’s lips the way he was tucked into his neck, Sasha settled for rubbing his stubbled jaw over Steve’s clean-shaven cheek, giving him a hell of a beard burn.

“I think I would like to see your hole stuffed all the time. Maybe fuck you, fill you up with fingers or a toy until I can fuck you again.” Steve shuddered in his arms. “And then do it all over again, and again, and again, until all you can think about is my cock inside you.”

Sasha wasn’t fully aware of his actions, just continued to gently press his fingers inside Steve while murmuring filth. It was surprisingly enjoyable to watch the way Steve just trembled and pressed closer to him. Steve flung his leg over Sasha’s hip, murmuring his name like a prayer, opening himself to Sasha’s touch. Letting Sasha wreck his body.

“I would make you so wet and slick, Steve,” Sasha promised, “I would suck at your amazing tits until they were red and swollen; so sensitive you would cry with every touch.”

“Jesus… Fuck,” Steve choked out, lost for any words other than the curses. Again his body arched, seeking more contact with Sasha’s fingers, lost and turned on, and spent all at once.

“Would you let me wreck you Steve?” Sasha asked without thinking, “Would you let me abuse that tight, perfect hole of yours until it wasn’t so perfect? Until it was just loose and sloppy and dripping with my come?”

Steve made a shuddering exhalation against Sasha’s neck, the visible cheek red with embarrassment and the beard burn Sasha was still giving him.

“Yeah,” he said thickly, “Yeah... Anything.” Shuddering yet again, he pressed a kiss to Sasha’s neck. “I would let you do _anything_.”

Sasha’s breath stopped. Steve’s response blindsided him completely. He was only letting off steam, not really expecting Steve to agree, or answer at all. Sasha wasn’t thinking that much about what he was _saying_ ; he was just high on sex and closeness and how sweetly Steve fit him. He opened his mouth to answer, but found no words. It terrified him, Steve’s easy agreement. As though Steve trusted _him_ , more than just to let himself go, but to be at Sasha’s mercy. Sasha didn’t know what to do with that at all.

Eventually, Sasha pulled his fingers out and felt Steve sag a little against him, exhausted from all the sex as well as the way Sasha’s attentions dropped him into sub-space. The thought of anyone else seeing Steve like this, pliant, exhausted and defenseless, had something _boiling_ inside him.

“This ends if I find someone else in your bed,” Sasha growled.

Steve’s head shot up so fast he nearly clipped himself on Sasha’s chin.

“That means there’ll be a next time?” he asked and it was so hopeful Sasha had to smile.

“Yeah, doll. You are mine.”

The soft, adoring look Steve gave him took Sasha’s breath away.

“Not gonna look anywhere else,” he promised.

Licking his lips, Sasha was suddenly in desperate need of a new topic. Luckily, one wasn’t far away. After all, he still wasn’t sure how he had come to be in a picture with Steve taken seventy years ago.

“So,” he cleared his throat, “how’s this whole Captain America thing work? Those pictures on the wall look like they were taken back during the Second World War.”

“Well,” Steve twisted in his arms, looking at the wall of memories, “They were. Then I… There was this organization, Hydra, and they planned to blow up all the major world cities with this alien technology. When they launched the plane, I managed to get on board, but the controls ended up damaged in the subsequent fight. Couldn’t land, couldn’t let her keep going.” He shrugged. “Put the thing in the water. Thought that would be it, but,” a shadow darted across those blue eyes, “woke up a few years ago and here I am.”

Sasha felt dizzy.

“Bet the world’s different than you recall.”

Steve snorted, twisting from the wall and back to face him.

“Loads, but I could get used to that. It was finding out everyone I’d ever known was dead or dying that was difficult.”

“All of them?” Sasha pressed.

The shadow returned to Steve’s beautiful baby blues. Pain, grief, and something worse that Sasha couldn’t put his finger on.

“Yeah,” Steve said thickly, “The ones that didn’t go before me. Can we not... talk about this? It hasn’t been that long for me and I-” Eyes closing, Steve pressed his lips tightly together, before collecting himself. “I miss ‘em somethin’ awful.”

Loneliness, Sasha realized. The other emotion was loneliness. Steve really hadn’t a clue who he was. Could it truly be that much of a coincidence? Sasha couldn’t believe that, not when another possibility rose in his mind. Hydra would have been eager to twist someone Steve cared for into a weapon to destroy him. In all likelihood, Sasha had been meant to tear Captain America apart, but the man had died before they could put their plans into motion.

“Yeah, doll,” Sasha murmured, suddenly not sure he _wanted_ Steve to see him as a man he couldn’t remember being. “I can’t stay anyway.”

Steve frowned.

“Why? I thought you believed me.”

Sasha chuckled.

“They’re gonna realize their bugs stopped transmitting sooner or later and I’d rather not be here when they come to check on you.”

The crease between Steve’s eyes vanished as he rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“They put them back?”

Raising an eyebrow, Sasha asked, “You knew they’d bugged your home and you didn’t check again?”

“Didn’t really care,” Steve rubbed his eyes, “Guess I do now, though. You should check again next time, but I’ll put a stop to it.”

“How is this even your line of work?” Sasha asked incredulously.

Steve’s lips quirked in a smirk.

“That’s what Natasha says.”

“She’s right.”

Shrugging, Steve smoothed his hand along Sasha’s stomach.

“If I can help people, who am I to refuse?”

Different words echoed through his mind, “ _There are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them._ ”

Suddenly cold, Sasha found himself saying, “Sounds like you’ve got something to prove.”

Like a magnet, Steve’s eyes were drawn to the sketch framed on the wall. The man that was and was not Sasha.

“Not any more.”

Not even sure what he’d ask, or say, next, Sasha was saved from the moment by the sound of screaming Metal music from somewhere in the direction of Steve’s discarded clothes. 

Groaning, Steve’s head thumped against Sasha’s chest. 

“If I don’t get that, he’s just going to fly over here and check on me.”

Reluctantly, Sasha let him go, and stood as well. He hadn’t been lying about needing to leave.

“Who?”

“How the fuck did he change it back again?” Steve mumbled before answering Sasha more directly with, “Tony Stark.”

“So you were literal about the flying part,” Sasha quipped, trying to cover the sudden tightness in his chest. Being here, with Steve, was not one of his better ideas. Agreeing to come back when _Iron Man_ could show at any time was suicidal. Yet, he already knew he’d return. He hadn’t had enough of this man.

Focusing on his hearing, Sasha tried to hide the fact he was listening in to the conversation. Steve obviously knew he was enhanced, but Sasha wasn’t sure if he knew _how_ enhanced, especially his senses. It wasn’t an advantage he was willing to give up.

“Tony,” Steve greeted his friend, his voice hard, but a genuine smile tugging at his lips as he skipped the pleasantries. “I’m fine. Just a couple stab wounds. How did you even find out?”

“I have my ways,” Tony chirped. The man had a nice tenor, but there was too much cheer in his voice for Sasha’s liking. “I’m hurt I didn’t get a call. From Fury’s email, it sounded pretty bad. Why didn’t you call for backup?” 

Turning around, Steve’s eyes roamed over Sasha as he pulled his clothes back on. Speculative, like maybe he’d be willing to go a third round. 

“I had Natasha there,” Steve answered absently.

Ignoring how it felt to have those eyes on him, Sasha pulled on his jeans, zipped them up, and then made sure both knife sheaths at the small of his back were in their proper place. He palmed both the the knives, flipping them absently before putting them back. Steve’s eyes flicked to his hands and yeah, he was interested in a third go ‘round. Who knew Captain America would so turned on by an assassin’s skills?

“The Spy Queen is fantastic,” Stark gushed with false enthusiasm, “but I’m much better in a fight, Cap.”

Reaching under the bed, Sasha fished out the ankle holster he had kicked there earlier and strapped it on his right leg. Focusing on the small straps he made sure it sat right, then pulled out the small Derringer, verifying that the safety was still on, and holstered it. 

When Sasha stood, he found Steve’s eyes watching him intently, his eyebrows climbing up a little, probably at the amount of hardware Sasha was sporting. With a smirk, Sasha pulled on his red henley and the lightweight holster that he had also kicked under the bed while stripping. This one was empty, the gun he usually wore in it hidden earlier in case this meeting had gone sideways. Steve’s eyes widened, darkening at the sight of the black straps framing Sasha’s shoulders and chest.

Last, Sasha found the jacket he’d left lying on the floor. He shrugged it on, rolling his shoulders to settle it properly. Once he could feel the weight distributed correctly, he reached up, slipping his hand between his neck and the collar and pulled out the Glock he had hidden there. He showed the gun to Steve, before holstering it in the hidden sheath.

“You still there, Steve?” Tony queried.

Steve licked his lips, “Yeah, Tony.”

Sasha’s cock twitched and he thought he might be able to go that third round, too, but not this time. As it was, he’d had too much placed on his shoulders after a couple hours with Steve Rogers. Staying longer was not an option. 

“Seriously, call me in if you need help. I’m always available for you, happy to drop anything. It’s not like many people get the better of you.” 

For all the bluster in that voice, Tony Stark seemed to be honest about his offer. Steve’s face looked fondly exasperated again as he rolled his eyes.

“It’s a low profile mission with some undercover work,” Steve declared, walking back to the bed and sitting gingerly on the mattress. Sasha grinned, pleased with himself and earned his own roll of the eyes. “You are the antithesis of low profile. Besides, it’s a two man job. The Ambassador refused any more of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s help and no, I don’t know why he doesn’t want you, too.”

“What do you mean he doesn’t want me?” 

Sasha almost grinned at the overblown dismay in Stark’s voice. 

“Everyone wants me. I’m _Iron Man_. Even _you_ want me, Capsicle.” 

Steve’s laugh was easy, pulled from somewhere deep, and left his eyes sparkling again. At Steve’s dresser retrieving the man’s hidden guns, Sasha twitched, and he almost dropped the Glock in his hand. It wasn’t a sound _he_ had gotten Steve to make yet. 

“You’re insane, Tony,” Steve shook his head, brightening again as Sasha fished out the rest of Steve’s missing weapons and set them on his dresser. Silently, Steve’s lips formed the words, ‘Thank you,’ but Sasha didn’t want his thanks. He wanted him off the goddamned phone.

“Maybe, but it’s true. You want me,” Stark teased. “Come on, you can say it.” 

Steve rolled his eyes again, turning back to the conversation.

“I’m not gonna say it.”

Sasha lowered his head, letting his hair fall forward to hide his face so as not to betray his eavesdropping. The conversation had taken an abrupt turn he didn’t appreciate.

“Whatever, Captain Disappearance. You know, it hurts when you ignore me like this. Haven’t heard from you in what, a week?” 

Steve’s shoulders drooped and he pinched the bridge of his nose like a headache was coming on.

“Would it make you feel better if I agreed to go out with you again?” 

Sasha growled instantly, the sound low and animalistic, rumbling through his chest, and the room in a clear threat. Flinching, Steve’s eyes snapped to Sasha and he quickly babbled, “ _Hang out_ , I meant hang out. We’ll bring Nat and Clint, make it a group thing. Team building.”

“It’s a start,” Stark sighed in exaggeration. 

“I swear, you’re an actual five-year-old,” Steve snapped, slipping from the bed. 

Coming to Sasha’s side, Steve carefully wrapped his long fingers over the ones Sasha hadn’t realized had closed on Steve’s Glock. They didn’t pry, just slowly caressed the straining tendons until Sasha abruptly released the weapon. Steve didn’t leave, lacing their fingers together and squeezing. Perhaps Sasha squeezed too hard in response, but if it hurt, Steve didn't’ show it.

Now that they were close, Sasha could hear Tony’s answer even more clearly.

“Sunday, then. I’ll round up the Birdman and the Spider. You all need to get out more, anyways. Work too hard.”

“You’re one to talk,” Steve retorted, his eyes searching Sasha’s.

“Ah, but I have a social life,” Tony threw back, “and have regular, healthy sex. I didn’t call you a Capsicle because you were frozen, more ‘cause you’re frigid.”

Steve turned scarlet.

“Pepper will not be happy when she finds out you told me about your sex life. Look, I need to go. I’ll text you about the meet up later.”

Before Tony could reply, Sasha pulled the phone from Steve’s hand and terminated the call.

“He’s just a friend,” Steve immediately insisted.

Sasha leaned in close, his lips brushing Steve’s, but not in a kiss.

“You make sure he _stays_ that way.”

The way Steve swallowed meant Sasha had gotten his point across. Now eager to leave before he admitted to more than he was actually ready for, Sasha turned away sharply and headed for the door. He might have broken Steve down in bed, but the man had shaken him to the core in return.

Steve didn’t follow.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 8

Sasha pushed the door closed behind him quietly, unwilling to wake up Sai if the kid was asleep already. Leaving the car keys on the table in front of the couch, he made his way to the kitchen. He was hungry as hell but that wasn’t anything new; he was always hungry. From the cupboard, he pulled out the jar of protein powder and measured a portion into the shake cup that waited on the counter. Absently he poured water into the cup, screwed the lid on and shook it vigorously.

The sound wasn’t loud, not enough to wake Sai up if the kid was asleep, but apparently he wasn’t. The skinny teenager shuffled into the kitchen area, a pair of oversized headphones hanging from his neck, a spring-coiled cord trailing behind him like a tail. His eyes were red and there were bags beneath them. He still wasn’t sleeping well, puttering around in his room well into the night.

Blue eyes swept Sasha up and down thoughtfully, assessing him for clues the way Sasha had taught him. The kid still wasn’t all that good at spotting weapons, but he was very good at reading emotions, micro-expressions, and judging threat levels. Sasha read somewhere that kids exposed to violence early in life became hyper-sensitive to body language as a defense mechanism. With Sai, at least, that was true.

“You said you were only going on reconnaissance,” Sai said tightly, clear accusation in his voice.

“I did,” Sasha answered, without specifying further.

Tipping his head back, he drank half the cherry-flavoured shake in one go. Sometime between his defection from Hydra and becoming what he was now, Sasha and Sai had figured out that he functioned best on seven to nine thousand calories a day. It was why he had a lot of candy and protein bars stuffed in all his pockets. Not all that healthy, but a good energy boost if he needed to do something exceedingly physical.

Sai came to the kitchen, brushing by Sasha on his way to the fridge, but not looking at him.

“You fucked him again,” he said in that same, tight voice.

Sasha watched the tension in the way the kid moved. They rarely fought, but when they did, it was usually exceedingly nasty. Obviously he was angry, but trying to control it. In some ways Sai was much better controlled than Sasha ever was. Emotions often blindsided Sasha who was used to functioning on instinct. Unlike him, Sai planned everything. He was perfectly aware of what he was feeling _and_ why.

After considering denying the statement, Sasha discarded the notion. Lying to Sai was hard, for many reasons.

“What makes you think that?” he stalled, trying to think of a way to deal with this strange new Sai. The kid hadn’t been himself since he’d stabbed Steve; he was moody and often off-balance. It was why Sasha tried to keep him firmly in the logistics part of the business. At the most, he ran comms and managed escape routes. He was never with him during the action.

Sai pulled out a bottle of coke and unscrewed the lid.

“You walk differently after you’ve fucked somebody.”

Of course. Sai was exceedingly sensitive to anything even remotely sexual. He didn’t mind Sasha getting it on, but he always _knew_. He could take one look at a roomful of people and immediately pinpoint who was fucking who, who _wanted_ to fuck who, and who used to fuck each other. It was an incredibly useful skill, and usually Sasha was very pleased with Sai for honing it to perfection. Being able to turn his trauma into a weapon with finesse people older than him never managed was a testament to his strength, his ability to survive. On the other hand, Sasha didn’t like it so much when that skill was turned against him.

“He surprised me in the apartment,” Sasha confessed.

Sai snorted and leaned against the cabinets across from Sasha. Instead of drinking, he played with the open bottle.

“Really?” Sai challenged, his voice wobbling a little in emotion, “You’re going with _that_ excuse?” He _surprised_ you? _You_?”

Sasha winced at Sai calling him out on his bullshit so bluntly.

“He had pictures in his apartment. And sketches,” Sasha admitted, suddenly aware of how much he wanted to tell somebody about his suspicions. “Of me.”

Finishing his shake with a slurp, he scrubbed at his face.

“Of a younger me. I looked _happy_ in those pictures,” Sasha admitted shakily, “It’s no wonder he doesn’t recognize me. I barely recognized myself in them. The man in them is so different… I’m starting to wonder if it’s really is _me_ , or maybe I’m some kind of a clone Hydra created?”

“And the pictures led to fucking?” Sai asked meanly, a sarcastic edge to his voice, ignoring the rest of Sasha’s confession.

Sasha gave him a glare for that.

“No, but they did distract me so much I kind of lost track of time.”

“So he caught you in the house because you just stood there woolgathering for god knows how long?” Sai clarified, disdain dripping from the words.

Sasha glared again, but with the same effect; Sai just shrugged it off.

“He came back _unexpectedly_ ,” Sasha growled.

Sai looked at him with those blue eyes of his, judging him so hard it was almost a physical sensation. A sensation Sasha did _not_ enjoy.

“And it didn’t occur to you to, I don’t know, _take the damn pictures and get the hell out of there_ , instead of just _standing_ and _staring_ at them?”

Though Sai was young, he was already a very good Mission Control. He kept his head in the game and the worse things became, the calmer he got, the better his planning. Sasha was used to Sai murmuring little directions in his ear at most times, praising him for things at others. It was oddly painful to suddenly hear that voice calling him unprofessional.

Sasha glared harder; Sai continued to ignore it.

“So he caught you,” Sai dug into him again, “The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, the freaking _enemy_ , caught you in his own home. Then what? He said hello? Can we fuck? And then can I _arrest_ you maybe? Since you clearly think with your dick instead of the actual brain you supposedly posses?”

Sai slammed down the bottle so hard, soda splashed out over his hand and the countertop.

“Did it even _occur_ to you it might have been a trap? That he might have had backup? That after the hotel, the people he works for might have expected you to come back for him? That you could have died?”

Sasha stared, surprised by the tirade and the raw, terrified rage pouring off of Sai.

“Did it even fucking occur to you I wouldn’t even know what _happened_ to you if you disappeared? That I would still be sitting here, sure you were coming back any minute because you only went to do some surveillance?! Not like there would be any actual danger, right?! I would have been here, sitting or sleeping or maybe playing a goddamned game while he was killing you, or _worse_ , and I wouldn’t even _know_!”

Sai was shouting now, fists clenched and face red. Spittle was flying everywhere as he descended into cursing every second word in his fervor.

“You could have been fucking dead because you fucking wanted a fuck so badly! You didn’t fucking tell me a fucking thing! I wouldn't have fucking known _anything_ was fucking wrong until it was too fucking _late_!”

Sasha backed up, staring in surprise and alarm as Sai kept getting louder, tendons in his neck standing out sharply. They had fought before, sure, but never like this. Sai had never been _this_ angry with him before. It wasn’t… He didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

“You know the procedures for me going off comms for too long,” Sasha protested, trying to calm Sai down. Though he didn’t understand what was pissing him off this much, he had to at least try. “You have access to all my accounts. There’s plenty of money and contacts for you to disappear without any problem. Even if Steve had managed to put me down, you would be okay.” Sasha promised, oddly sure of his words. “He wouldn’t come after you.”

Sai grabbed the bottle of soda and abruptly threw it at Sasha.

“Did it ever occur to you, you _dumb fuck_ , that you’re all I have?!” Sai shouted, so angry there were whites showing up around his eyes. “If he had killed you, I would be left _alone_ you _shithead_!”

Not lifting a finger to bat the bottle away, Sasha let it hit him in the chest, splashing him with the sickly-sweet liquid, and just stared at the kid now on the verge of tears.

“You…” Sai sagged suddenly, all the anger draining out of him in a rush. “I can’t even…”

Sai scrubbed his face with his hands, hard.

“Fuck you,” he said suddenly sounding very small and very young. “Just, _fuck you_.”

With those last two whispered words, Sai turned around and ran out of the apartment as if there were a hundred demons on his tail, and slammed the door hard behind him.

Sasha stared after him, dumbfounded because no, it had never occurred to him that Sai felt that way. That he felt anything more for Sasha than friendship and companionship had been outside the realm of possibility. He cared for the kid, he knew that, but that Sai felt something similar… This then explained why he had been so angry at Sasha for risking himself with Steve.

Slowly, Sasha slid down the cabinets. The floor was a mess of soda, but he couldn’t bring himself to move for a long time.

Eventually, he made it to the couch, almost squashing a computer mouse as he sat. Staring at nothing, he rubbed his face, roughly digging his fingers into his scalp. His chest hurt in a way it hadn’t before. It was hard to focus, Sai’s angry face at the forefront of his mind. He was shaken, out of balance in a way he didn't know how to deal with.

That day in France, when he had broken his programming, Sasha hadn’t truly done it for the kid. With all his problems, he had enough self awareness to know that. Those first months it was, frankly, Sai taking care of _him_. He could get into any building, kill any target, but he honestly hadn’t known how to take care of himself. It was Sai who had figured out that the reason Sasha was suffering severe headaches was because he didn’t eat enough. Sai who had stopped Sasha from obvious violence those first weeks, opting for stealth and subterfuge to get them what they needed. It was Sai who’d taught him to speak like a normal person, who had taught him to express emotion.

In the following years they had become a good team, managed to work out a seamless partnership. Sasha did his best to teach the kid all he would need to survive in this world. Somewhere along the way, while he learned to be Sasha, not just the Asset, Sai became the single constant in his life. The boy had been the only human connection he had, the only person he could be honest with, who wouldn’t hurt him just for the sake of it. Sasha would do anything for the boy because he cared on a level Sasha didn’t understand for a long time. He loved the kid, desperately, but that was difficult to express in words. Even years later, expressing what he felt wasn’t easy, impossible at times.

Sai’s angry voice, full of rage and hurt was still ringing in Sasha’s ears, though. If this was what Sai needed, he would find a way to express himself.

Pulling out his phone, Sasha was startled to find that two hours had passed as he sat thinking. He swiped his thumb in the unlock pattern. On the second screen was a small picture of an otter on it; a disguised shortcut for texting Sai.

Carefully, he entered the letters, unsure if his text would be welcome at all and wanting to ensure there were no mistakes.

_Are you coming back?_

The reply was almost immediate, the kid able to text at speed of light.

_Why do you care?_

Sasha rubbed his face, not surprised by Sai’s terse answer. He had taught the kid that, in self defense, _attack_ was always the best policy.

_do_

The moment he hit send, Sasha winced. The text was unclear and misleading.

Sai’s response was as fast as the last, the speed suggesting the kid was still spitting mad. The words confirmed his suspicion.

_Do what?_

_Care_ , the single word was everything Sasha could come up with at short notice, his hands felt too big, too clumsy. Nervous.

Sasha stared at his phone for a long moment, waiting for a response as the seconds dragged by. When ten minutes had passed without any answer, he added: _For you I mean._

After another ten long minutes his phone lit up with Sai’s answer.

_I figured_

Sasha smiled at the snippy retort. This was better than the previous angry responses. He typed as fast as he could. These words came to him with difficulty; he couldn’t even say them to Sai’s face, but writing wasn’t much easier.

_I’m sorry_

The silence this time wasn’t as painful, but he couldn’t let it last long. Unlocking the phone again and texted, slower, more sure of his words this time: _For scaring you like that. I won't do that again._

Sai didn’t answer, but Sasha thought the kid would understand everything he wasn’t saying.

 _You coming back?_ Sasha sent as the silence stretched too much for his liking. But that edge of nervousness continued to roil through him. He would feel better only when he had Sai in his sights again.

Sai’s answer was short, but quick this time: Yes.

It was easy, this time, to type out: _when?_

_Don’t know._

Sasha scowled at the screen, suddenly worried all over again.

_Where are you?_

The response was lightning quick.

_Second staircase landing_

Sasha’s scowl deepened.

_You’ve been there the whole time?_

There was a small pause before the answer came, but at least it came.

_Yes._

The text felt sheepish to him somehow. Grinning foolishly, Sasha replied: _Hold on, I’m coming to you._

\----

Steve was just taking his coffee from the nice girl in the shop when he felt a presence at his back. He knew it wasn’t anyone who’d come with him today: Natasha, Tony, and Clint were at the gift shop, trying to find something perfect for the little Bartons as a souvenir. They had insisted on doing something _fun_ , and Steve was honestly just grateful they’d let him choose where they were going. The Metropolitan Museum of Art was one of his favorite places in the entire city. He could spend days looking at all the pieces, but apparently someone wasn’t going to let him.

Just as Steve was tensing to drive his elbow into his presumed attacker’s gut, he felt an inhumanly strong hand close around his upper arm.

“Easy.” Sasha’s voice was low but amused. “You wouldn’t want to make a scene in public, now would you, Captain?”

There was a surge of tension along Steve’s back. It was always a game with Sasha. One moment, he was his lover, the next his opponent. Meeting like this, in public during the day, chances were fifty-fifty at this being either fucking or fighting. Steve was starting to feel the current situation weigh upon him, and lying to his friends wasn’t helping.

“Come with me,” Sasha directed.

Wasting no time, he tugged Steve firmly through the crowd of people. Sasha’s body pressed close behind him, the hand literally steel (or metal, at least) on his arm. There was probably more than one gun on him too, so even if Sasha had wanted to, he couldn’t make a scene. Not here. Not with all these people in the crossfire. So Steve let himself be nudged through an Employee Only door, and down half a flight of stairs that ended in a grate. The metal hand locked around Steve’s upper arm didn’t budge for a moment; not hurting him, but not letting him go either.

“If it’s about the ambassador,” Steve said calmly, though he certainly didn’t _feel_ calm, “I don’t know where he is. Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.”

Sasha pushed him off balance, forcing Steve forward to brace himself on the metal grate to keep from falling.

“I’m not here about my target.”

That was good. Mostly.

“So why are you?”

As if waiting for the question, Sasha suddenly pressed himself against Steve’s back, dragging his stubbled cheek along his nape. It brought back memories of Sasha fingering him, rubbing his cheek all over Steve’s face, and murmuring unbelievable filth at him. It made Steve suddenly, blindingly hard.

“I want to fuck you.”

Steve blinked, finding it difficult to focus through the haze of lust.

“What?”

Sasha ignored him and wasted no time going for his belt, opening Steve’s pants and pushing them down to his knees.

Brought abruptly back to his senses, Steve hissed, “We’re in public!” and made his first attempt to pull away.

Behind him, Sasha just chuckled and shoved him harder against the grate. His chest was pressed so tightly to Steve’s back he could feel the vibration of the sound travel through it.

“It’s a service stairway,” Sasha informed him. “Nobody will see us here. Provided you keep quiet, that is.”

Two already wet fingers pressed between Steve’s cheeks before he could respond, then pushed into his hole in one sure movement. Steve went up on tiptoe, half from surprise, half from trying to escape the sensation. The metal arm had wrapped around his waist however, and held him firmly in place.

“I thought about just finding you all morning,” Sasha purred into his ear, “and fuking you wherever you were. About doing it bare.”

Another finger, three now, curled into his body possessively. Steve’s knees went weak as those fingers found his prostate with unerring aim, and he had to choke back a moan. Fucking snipers and their ridiculous skills at always hitting their targets.

“Thought about just pushing you against a wall, like this, and shoving my cock inside you.”

“ _Jesus_ , Sasha,” Steve cursed in disbelief. But that did sound fucking incredible, and what the hell was _wrong_ with him?

“Thought about the desperate little sounds you would make trying to be quiet,” Sasha went on in velvet tones that went straight to Steve’s cock. “About this ass of yours, kitten, so perfect it makes me want to cry.”

The fingers pulled out and Steve made one of those sounds. Thankfully, the fingers returned wetter than before, sliding easily inside with a faint squelching sound. Steve realised he had spread his legs wider, pushing his ass out towards Sasha as he listened to his filthy promises.

“I thought about fucking you hard and fast, and coming inside you; filling you up until it was leaking out of you.” Sasha bit at the back of Steve’s neck, his whole body holding Steve up. “Thought about leaving you here, ass aching, wet, slowly leaking lube and come, thinking _only_ of me.”

Steve’s breathing hitched and he shifted his hold on the grate, raising an arm to rest his flushed face against it. The images Sasha were painting in his head ramped up his lust at an alarming rate. Yet, there was no sense in fighting what he already knew he wanted. What Sasha had _known_ he would want.

Helplessly, Steve pushed his ass towards the invading fingers, enjoying the stretch, the _invasion_ of them. Being vulnerable with this man, subject to his un-tender mercies, was wonderfully overwhelming.

“God, Sasha,” Steve moaned brokenly. “ _Yes_ , do it.”

Sasha didn’t waste time once he had Steve’s permission. He pulled his fingers out and was pushing his cock in moments later. The stretch of it brought tears to Steve’s eyes but he pushed back, instinctively clenching on the intruder. Sasha gasped, grabbing his hips and fucked in until he couldn’t push any further inside.

Biting his lower lip so hard it almost bled, Steve kept himself from yelling at the sensation. He _loved_ it, loved how full he felt. Loved the stretch, the weight, even the hurt of it. Loved everything about Sasha fucking him. He didn’t even feel like he needed any stimulation to his cock or his prostate. Steve could come just from this; from Sasha’s dick stretching his ass to the point of pain, his voice in Steve’s ear making everything perfect.

“You’re always so tight Stevie, always clench around me like I’m killing you, but the sounds you make kitten, the _sounds_ …”

Those sounds continued to pour from Steve’s lips. He tried valiantly to stifle them, to keep his moans and whimpers and cries locked in his chest, but the stimulation was just too much too fast. This was no long, drawn out fuck; Sasha pounded into him, rattling the grate and whispered filth into his ear. Steve’s muscles contracted and clenched, trying to hold Sasha inside him, trying to slow down the roaring that was building in his chest. As much as he wanted to hold this feeling off, wanted this to last, still he chased it. Their harsh breathing was loud in his ears, too loud and _Christ what if someone sees us_ , but Steve didn’t make any effort to stop what was happening.

In a blaze of white, pleasure crashed down on his senses, leaving him helpless in its wake. Inside him, Sasha continued to thrust, hard and fast and brutal. All Steve could do was hold on to the grate, Sasha’s metal arm around his waist holding him up as his muscles failed to do so now. Then Sasha was coming, filling Steve up, and Steve whimpered because Sasha was right. He’d loved it; loved every second of it.

Like every time Sasha had fucked him, exhaustion flooded through Steve’s body. He only felt like this with Sasha - after he and Sasha... Like his body was incapable of movement. Steve’s mind was fuzzy, unable to focus on the thoughts darting around his head that slipped through his mind like running water. Various parts of him ached, but Steve didn’t have the capacity to care. There was only Sasha’s hands, holding him, easing him to the ground. Sasha’s cock slipping from his body, leaving him cold and empty, and his lips brushing over Steve’s cheek, his neck, his jaw. Muscles twitched randomly, like they were trying to remember how to function.

“Perfect, kitten,” Sasha crooned, hands tugging Steve’s clothes back into place, “That was perfect. Now, don’t stay here long, or someone _will_ find you.”

“Wait,” Steve mumbled, but Sasha pressed a final kiss to his lips and jogged back up the stairs. “Sasha…”

As far as Steve could tell - and cognitive thought didn’t come easy at the moment - Sasha didn’t glance back. Closing his eyes tightly, Steve wrapped his arms about himself and tried to fight off the chills that had begun wracking him as soon as he lost Sasha’s touch. The cold floor didn’t help, and Steve soon curled in on himself, searching for warmth.

Breathing hard through his nose, Steve tried to get control of himself. This had been easier to cope with as long as Sasha had been with him, when he wasn’t alone, but now he was. No one was _there_. He was alone, the way he’d been since he’d woken up. Until Nat had battered his walls down and Tony had somehow wormed his way in. Until Sasha... But Sasha had gone. Leaving him like the rest.

Pressing his face into his arm, Steve inhaled shakily, confused and startled to find he was fighting off tears. What the hell kept _happening_ to him? How did Sasha do this?

“Steve?”

Hearing Natasha’s voice from up the stairwell only made Steve’s shaking worse. With a whimper, he pressed his lips tightly together, because as bad as being alone was, being seen like this was a thousand times worse.

“ _Oh my God_ ,” Natasha gasped, her sneakers loud in the otherwise empty stairwell. Cloth slid over concrete and Natasha’s small, warm hands were pulling at him, holding him. Pushing him until his face was tucked into her lap, his arm about her knees and the other around her waist. Her arms wrapped about his shoulders and head, holding him tightly.

“Oh, Steve,” she whispered, “You’re seeing him, aren’t you?”

Burrowing his face into her jeans, Steve nodded weakly.

“’’M sorry,” he gasped. “I’m sorry. I just- He’s so-”

“Shh,” her hands combed through his hair over and over, “It’s okay, Steve. We can talk later. Let’s just calm you down.”

Shaking his head hard, Steve blurted, “No, no, it’s _not_. I can’t stop, Nat. I know how stupid it is, but I can’t. He’s addicting and I can’t stop, and he _left_ , Nat. He _left_.”

“Oh, sweetie, no,” she said, an odd quality to her voice, “He didn’t leave.”

It took the last, little bit of strength Steve had recovered to uncurl enough to look. Turning his head, he followed Natasha’s gaze past the door they’d come through, up several more flights of stairs where he could see Sasha, leaning over the railing, staring at him. Just that look left Steve weak all over again. It wasn’t everything, but it was enough. He hadn’t been left behind again.

“God,” he whispered; there wasn’t enough of him left for more than that.

Slumping against Natasha’s legs, Steve stared at Sasha, watching the way his eyes darted from him, to Natasha, and back. The metal arm was slowly crushing the stair railing, and now that he could _see_ that, Steve could catalogue that as the sound that had started up the second he’d heard Nat’s voice.

“If you don’t get your ass down here and _fix_ this, I will use those words, Marozov.”

Before Natasha finished speaking, Sasha was already falling through the air, taking the fastest route by jumping the railing. If Steve had had the ability to admire it, he would have found the landing effortless and graceful. As it was, he could only feel relief as Sasha pulled him straight into his arms, tucking him tightly into his chest as Steve clutched at the red sweatshirt he was wearing.

“You asshole,” Steve gasped, knuckles going white as he held on as hard as he could, “You goddamned asshole.”

“I’m going to go run interference with Tony and Clint,” Natasha called, pitching her voice low and soothing, “We _will_ have words later, Rogers.”

“Yes, I am,” Sasha groaned to Steve as if she wasn’t there, “I’m so sorry, Stevie. I thought you were all right; _fuck_. I’m here now, okay? I’m here.”

“Why does this _happen_?” Steve gasped, “What the hell do you _do_ to me?”

“It’s, it’s a bit like a high,” Sasha tried to explain, “for you, when I make you come undone like that. Then when it’s gone, your body crashes. They call it sub-drop.”

Steve pressed his face harder against Sasha’s neck, breathing him in, absorbing his warmth. His body was finally starting to calm, the trembling easing from his limbs. This was what he’d needed. Needed, and hadn’t had.

“Asshole,” Steve repeated weakly.

Sasha’s arms closed about him more tightly. Eventually, Steve felt he was capable of loosening his hold on the man, and carefully opened his fingers. He could breathe evenly again, though his mind still felt fuzzy, his body fighting his commands. Sub-drop, if that’s what this was, was apparently a bitch.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” Steve growled. “Next time, you _stay_.”

“Next time?” Sasha repeated, sounding so small Steve made himself look up. There was no steel in those grey eyes this time, just uncertainty and guilt mixed with a bit of hope. It was the closest the man had ever looked to Bucky, but that wasn’t what hit Steve so hard. Despite his brain’s fog, Steve could see, plain as day, that Sasha had thought Steve was going to call off...whatever this was.

“Yeah,” Steve offered a weak smile, “Next time.”

“Even though seeing me is stupid?”

Steve felt himself melt, despite feeling guilty. The assassin was so adorably uncertain. For the first time, Steve wondered if maybe he wasn’t the only one unable to stop.

“You ever sleep with the same person twice?” Steve asked gently.

Something dark flittered across Sasha’s face, there and gone, and Steve knew he wasn't going to like the answer he got. Wished, belatedly, he hadn't asked the leading question.

“If I’d had a choice in the matter? No.”

It was said quickly, tightly, as if Sasha was offering a secret to appease Steve. There was no misunderstanding the horrible implication of the confession, though. It explained the profile of one night stands, Sasha’s dominance, and Steve, who had thought just the night before that he knew nothing about Sasha, wished he still didn't know. This wasn't a wound, or an enemy, that he could overcome.

“Made an exception of my own for you,” Sasha continued quickly.

Wrapping his arms about Sasha's waist, Steve tucked himself back into Sasha’s arms, his head beneath the man’s chin. He held on tight, burrowing his hands beneath Sasha’s clothing to find his back. Smoothing his hands over muscles, he pressed a kiss to Sasha's jaw.

No, Steve couldn't help with this, but he sure as hell didn’t want to make it about him. He could, at the least, listen and offer whatever Sasha needed. Right now, the man clearly needed Steve to not to ask any more questions on this particular subject.

“It’s stupid and reckless, for _both_ of us, but I don’t want to look anywhere else. Haven't said so, but I don't want you to, either.”

“Don’t think I could handle any more,” Sasha said, still tense and as unhappy as Steve had ever seen without anger involved.

“Are you telling me you won't get caught in any more honeytraps?” Steve teased, feeling how uncomfortable Sasha had become. “Because I’m working very hard at being a good honeypot, you know.”

Sasha snorted, amused despite himself.

“You are clearly damaged, Steve,” Sasha deadpanned, obviously wanting off the topic right away.

This time it was Steve who snorted. Sasha echoed Natasha perfectly, which was doubly funny because the two snarled at each other like a pair of feral cats fighting for territory whenever they were near each other.

“But you like me that way?”

The words were meant to be teasing, but Steve couldn’t stop the hesitant, questioning inflection at the end.

“Yeah,” Sasha smiled, a small, surprisingly gentle smile. “I do.”

\----

The moment Steve entered his home, he knew the reprieve Natasha had granted him was over. She stared hard at him as he bolted the door behind them and led the way to the kitchen. From the fridge, he pulled two bottles of water, passed her one, and pulled the cap off his own.

“All right,” Steve sighed, “Say it.”

“What do you think I’m going to say?” Natasha asked, hopping up onto the kitchen’s island and perching on the edge. There was a grace to her movement that always caught Steve’s eye. He wanted to draw her one day, but never dared to, afraid he wouldn’t be able to do her justice.

“Nothing I imagine I haven’t said to myself,” Steve answered, picking at the bottle’s label before looking up at Natasha.

“You definitely take beating yourself up to a new level,” Natasha agreed. “You do realize this can’t end well? What you do, what he does; it doesn’t mix. Sooner or later, you’re going to draw a line in the sand and he’s going to step over it.”

Looking down again, Steve nodded.

“Probably sooner, rather than later.” His lips tried to twist into a weak smile, but didn’t quite get there.

She gave him a small, bitter smile.

“It’s what people like us do, we _break_ things, and knowing that, you still don’t want to stop, do you?”

Steve ran his finger through the condensation on his water. He didn’t agree with her, but there was a very particular way Natasha saw herself. Though she was a wonderful judge of character, she was the harshest judge for herself. Steve had tried to fight her on that many times before, and would in the future, but now wasn’t the time.

Steve shook his head, as if physically denying the possibility would make the words easier to hear spoken aloud.

“I don’t think I can.”

“Didn’t think so,” she sighed, “What is it about him that’s got you all twisted? I’ve known you long enough to know you don’t do this.”

That drew a genuine laugh from Steve. This time, he managed a more honest grin; a quick little thing, and gone in an instant.

“That’s what I keep saying.”

“Don’t stall, Steve. Besides your apparent bad-boy thing, why can’t you just let this particular murderly fish go?”

“Are you implying another murderly fish would be a better choice?”

Natasha smirked.

“Well, you do hang out with spies and assassins, so it would be kind of hard to avoid all of us.”

They shared a giggle before Steve returned to the serious question she had asked.

“At first?”

“A good place to start, usually.”

“He looks like Bucky,” Steve admitted in a rush, dropping his gaze once more. This was one of the few things they’d never talked about. It wasn’t Natasha’s fault, or that he didn’t trust her, he just didn’t like talking about the past he’d sacrificed.

“Let me guess, Bucky wasn't the kind you bring home to mom.”

Steve smiled.

“ _Legendary_ skirt chaser.”

Natasha gave him a sympathetic look, but stayed on topic.

“That’s why you let Sasha go in the penthouse?”

“No,” Steve shook his head, “That’s why I let it go that far in the hotel. The penthouse, that was... If we can stop this without arresting him-”

“He won’t stop.”

Steve gave her a hard look.

“Someone’s hurt him, Nat. Done things no man has a right to do to another person. A couple choice words shouldn’t affect anyone that way, no one should have- Locking him up won’t make that right.”

“Letting the ambassador die won’t either.”

Inclining his head, Steve took a long sip of his water. This was where the conversation got hard. It had been surprisingly easy so far, but Steve wasn’t going to give Sasha up. Not unless someone else forced his hand. Unfortunately, that _someone_ was probably going to be the man himself.

“This is where I tell you I won’t commit a wrong to stop another. Then you tell me the means sometimes justifies the end.”

“Steve,” Natasha said compassionately, “you _can’t_ save him.”

“Believe it or not, I’m not trying. I want _him_ , not some idea of him.”

“You hardly know him.”

Steve frowned, looking back down at his bottle and picking again at the label.

“No,” he said slowly, “I don’t know _about_ him. Him… Can’t explain it to you, Nat, but I know him. I see him and he sees _me_. That’s why I can’t let him go.”

Natasha drained the rest of her bottle and then twisted it into a little pretzel, obviously enjoying the sound of the crushed plastic. She had dozens of little habits she clearly enjoyed, the only things he ever saw her indulge in. Twisting bottles into strange shapes, walking barefoot on plush carpets and eating only red M&M’s, but only ever with people she trusted.

“Okay,” she agreed suddenly, just like that, making Steve’s head spin.

“Okay?” Steve repeated, searching her face for some condemnation. There was nothing, but it couldn’t be that easy, could it?”

“Steve,” Natasha said tenderly, “I just want you to be happy. He makes you happy. I mean, he’s going to break your heart, but the last week you’ve been on cloud nine. I haven’t seen you smile so much, or _laugh_ like you have _ever_. It looks good on you.”

Hopping off the counter, she pushed her hands into her pockets and shrugged.

“And you never know, maybe you’ll be good for him, too.”

Steve shrugged.

“We keep breaking our rules for each other, making exceptions. All I’m sure of is that he’s as compromised as I am.”

“Well,” she smacked his shoulder playfully, “I’ll see if I can’t cover that blind spot.”

“Dunno what I’d do without you most days,” he admitted.

Natasha scoffed.

“Don’t let Morozov hear you say that. He’ll blow a gasket.”

When Steve laughed again, it felt like he had finally shaken off the chill that had clung to him since waking from the ice. He’d always thrived with a challenge.

“Sash isn’t that bad, you know,” he offered, then raised an eyebrow as her face scrunched up. “What?”

“Did you just call him a scarf?” Natasha asked, looking as if she was sucking on a lemon.

Steve blinked at her, confused.

“I didn’t!” he protested. “It’s a nickname.”

“Steve, he’s _Russian_.”

“I know?” Steve looked at her, not understanding any better what he had done.

“American English is a learned language for him. If you ever call him that abomination to his face he will ask you the same thing as me: Why are you suddenly calling him a scarf.”

“You’re telling me Russians don’t have nicknames?” Steve questioned.

“Oh, they have plenty. But Russian names don’t get shortened. They get longer.”

“Longer? What’s the point in a nickname if it gets _longer_? They’re supposed to be quick, familiar.”

Natasha sighed, but explained patiently. It wasn’t something he thought she’d do for many people.

“Let’s take Sasha for example. A friend would call him Sashka. A family member would call him Sashenka.”

Steve tried to wrap his tongue around the last name and looked at his friend dubiously.

“You Russians never do anything the easy way, do you,” he protested, trying to imagine himself saying that tongue twister of a name out loud.

Natasha just gave him a _look_.

“That’s the short version. Even in America we don’t use the full family names, as it would confuse you completely. For example, if my father was called Oleg then my friends would call me Natasha Olegowna Romanowna. My name would be Natashenka and that would only be the first level of familiarity. And we haven’t even hit all the declensions yet, there are six of the main ones...”

“Stop,” Steve requested, raising his hands in surrender, “I get it; have mercy.”

She smirked at him, raising an eyebrow.

“So it’s either Sasha or Sashka for him, right?” Steve answered the expectant gaze. “Never Sash.”

“Look at that, Rogers,” Natasha teased, “You _can_ learn something.”


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 9

Nearly a week passed after the museum and his talk with Natasha, but there was no word from Sasha. It was difficult for Steve not to be disappointed, especially after his conversation with Nat. Afterward, all he'd wanted was to see Sasha again. Feel him, hear him. Steve had dreamt of him instead of the usual mish-mash of nightmares and fever dreams that peppered his sleep. The change was welcome, but it didn’t help Steve forget his first, very absent, lover.

Professionally, there was no sign of Sasha either. Natasha was growing ever more paranoid, distrustful of the long absence. They’d set another trap like the first, even though that had ended with five dead men gnawing away at Steve’s conscience. When Sasha didn’t bite, Steve had been secretly grateful. Arresting his lover was the last thing Steve wanted. Never seeing him again, though, that was worse.

With no word for so long, Steve was beginning to feel a little humiliated. Perhaps everything so far had been nothing more than revenge, Sasha playing Steve the way he had been played. At the time it had felt different, intimate and… There wasn’t a word for what they were, or rather, what Steve had thought they were. What _he_ was, apparently, was a man obsessed.

Compromised. Steve was _definitely_ compromised. Or _fucked_ , as Tony would say, and not just metaphorically. Obsessed, compromised, and completely fucked.

To keep Sasha _and_ the job off his mind, Steve threw himself into his projects. With the chunk of back pay from the military, Steve had more money than he knew what to do with. He’d donated a lot of it to charity, and hadn’t spent much more. His home was his biggest purchase, though he’d choked on the price, but in the end, found himself owner of a four-storey tenement block in relatively good condition. Not that that hadn’t stopped him.

Steve had thrown himself into renovating the building, making it a home he would have wanted back before the war. Though that wasn’t him any more: settling down, giving up his life as a hero, which honestly, was a daunting prospect in itself. But he needed something to do when he wasn’t helping keep the world safe. Dismantling something old, making it something new, and yet leaving it the same, gave him unexpected peace. The moment he’d finished the last project in his own home, Tony had helped him buy another old building down the street. Not that Steve knew what he was going to do with it, but he’d think about that when he was finished with the repairs.

As he got ready to head over to the old townhouse on Day Fifteen with no word from Sasha, someone rang the bell. It was so unusual that Steve froze, staring at himself in the mirror, because no one he knew ever rang the bell. Tony, Thor, and Barton always came in through the door of the roof terrace. He hadn’t a clue how Natasha, Sasha, or Fury got in, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to, either.

When he eventually opened the door, Steve was grateful he had grabbed his Glock because standing on his stoop, looking bedraggled and filthy, was the kid from Sasha’s hotel room. _Sasha’s kid_. Like the last time they’d met, the teenager’s blue eyes were wide and frightened, but he wasn’t brandishing knives at least. He had a laptop clutched to his chest and wore a backpack, looking for all the world like he wanted to bolt, not attack.

A quick glance showed Sasha nowhere in sight. Not having a clue what was happening, Steve didn’t wait for him to speak - if the kid was here, there were few explanations, and none of them were good - he stepped back quickly to let him in before anyone noticed.

Making sure he didn’t turn his back to the kid, Steve shut the door after him and snapped the deadbolt home. So much for getting the new cabinets installed today.

Now that he was inside, the kid looked even more lost than he had before. It tugged at something in Steve’s chest and he stomped on the voice that said this could be a trap. Maybe it was, but this was also _Sasha’s kid_.

“You can sit,” Steve encouraged gently, “Chairs won’t bite and I won’t either. You’re safe.”

The look the kid gave him was pure disbelief and Steve couldn’t help but smile. Like father like son.

“I need your help,” he said instead of sitting.

“Gathered it was something like that.” Steve inclined his head. “Thing is, I’d rather not talk business standing, and I don’t want you behind me. So go take a seat.”

The less-friendly words did the trick, the kid seeming to respect caution over sincerity. It was the same tactic he’d used with Sasha, so Steve wasn’t surprised. In the living room, the kid perched on the edge of the couch and Steve dropped into a chair to his left. He sat forward and offered a small smile.

“What’s your name?”

“Sai,” the kid said, not offering a last name. He was a skinny little thing, Steve thought watching him fold all those bony limbs close to himself. He was pale-skinned and light-eyed. Frankly, he looked more like Steve’s son that Sasha’s. Steve watched, trying to see the similarities to Sasha, see which parts of him were from Sasha and which from… 

Steve’s mind ground to a halt briefly. Mother. There had to be a mother somewhere. If Sai was Sasha’s son then there had to have been a woman to give birth to him. Steve couldn’t believe he didn’t think of it earlier. Natasha said Sasha had been freelancing for the last five years, but in all their information packages there was no mention of a family, even Sai was a surprise, an unexpected factor that had only came out when it was poking holes into Steve’s spleen.

But none of this mattered now. Steve forced himself to focus on the current mess.

“Sasha send you?”

Sai’s head whipped in a negative manner and Steve’s worry skyrocketed. Angrily, Sai swiped at his eyes, put the laptop on the table, and shoved it at Steve.

“What’s this?” Steve asked, gingerly opening the device. It wasn’t that he was bad with technology, he knew how to use a computer just fine. He just always felt he could so easily break the delicate things every time he used one.

Anger flared bright in the boy’s eyes and he glared at Steve.

As though it was physically painful, he said, “That’s all our records. He told me-” Looking away from Steve, Sai stared at his hands now clenched hard in his lap. “He told me to use my knowledge of him, of his contracts, to make a deal if something happened, and I didn’t hear from him for a full week. So… So this is the deal: I want immunity and I want you to save him. Or you get nothing.”

As carefully as he’d opened the laptop, Steve closed it again. There was no way he was using this information against Sasha, and certainly no way he was taking the kid to S.H.I.E.L.D. He looked like he’d been through enough.

“Handing me your bargaining chip is not how you make a deal, kid,” he pointed out gently.

Sai flushed and Steve pushed the laptop back. That got him a befuddled look that reminded him of Sasha so much it hurt. The two were clearly not used to trusting people, or being trusted. It was a little depressing.

“Why don’t you hang on to that, in case we need to get you a deal later, huh? First, let’s see if we can find your dad without doing anything too drastic.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” Sai said frankly.

Steve chuckled wryly.

“How about we start over?” Sliding forward, he offered Sai his hand. “I’m Steve, Steve Rogers. It’s nice to meet you.”

Though he stared at Steve’s hand like it was a snake, Sai carefully took it and shook it for the briefest of moments.

“Okay, Sai, tell me what happened.”

“I don’t really know,” Sai confessed worriedly, his emotions written on his face far more clearly than Steve had expected from Sasha’s kid. “I got a call a week ago, like I said, and Sasha told me to go to ground. I did, but all the safe houses were being watched, so I had to sleep on the street. Then I went to all the meeting places, looking for the drop to tell me where to find him, but...There’s nothing. I haven’t heard anything and it’s too long. You- _please_ ,” Sai’s eyes pleaded as desperately as his voice. “You gotta help him.”

“I will,” Steve promised without hesitation, “but I need to know everything you can tell me. Who is after him?”

Slumping wearily back onto the couch, Sai said, “I can’t say for sure. They’re not government and it’s a huge operation, so if I had to guess, Hydra.”

A dull roaring started in Steve’s ears, his mind flashing back to a train, a plane, a man standing on a bridge tearing off his own face.

“That’s not possible,” he heard himself say from a great distance.

Sai’s gruff, “If you believe that, you’re as naive as Sasha says you are,” brought him back into his own body.

Steve gave the kid a sharp look. He’d take shit from a lot of people, but not anyone who had tried to kill him.

“Maybe, what else?”

“Hydra made Sasha. They programmed him with what _you_ used to torture him,” Steve winced; Sai looked particularly satisfied, “and forced him to kill for them for years.”

“Now he kills for the highest bidder, what’s the difference?”

Sai’s glare was pure fury. Steve only felt a _little_ guilty for provoking the reaction.

“You can’t possibly understand what it’s like to be forced to do things you never wanted to, to have it all taken from you just because someone has power over you. Sasha kills _for himself_ , not for Hydra, not because somebody ordered him to. He can stop whenever _he_ wants. He said you’ve seen him since that first time, you should _know_ that.”

“We don’t discuss business,” Steve replied gently, noticing absently that Sai called Sasha by name, not any word meaning “father”. “What’s the protocol for finding him when you have to go to ground?”

“First we check the safe houses, but I can’t get inside, and he wouldn’t be there anyway. Then we mark a mailbox, then leave a message for the other at the nearest bus station. I tried that, but there was never a reply.”

Slowly, Steve nodded. It was as good a place to start as any.

“We’ll keep checking for those messages. You stay here, I’m going to get my things and we can head out.”

“Head out where?” Sai asked, both eager and suspicious.

“Your safehouses. Maybe he’s not in them, but there might be another clue.”

\----

The first safehouse had revealed little. Watched by Hydra agents as committed to death before giving up information as their predecessors, they’d found nothing but blood inside. Not a lot, just enough to suggest a struggle. No bodies, none except the ones Steve and Sai had left behind. The next two were similar, though Steve found other ways to get past the Hydra watches. Not because he cared if they lived, he just didn’t want to leave a trail of bodies to tell a story. No one needed to know Sasha had back-up.

Once inside, they found more blood, but no bodies, no supplies. Sasha had been here, dealt with whomever had come for him, and then left again. There had been no witnesses, at least Steve hoped there hadn’t been.

By the time they got to the fourth safehouse, the last of the bunch, Steve was carrying a ball of anxiety in his chest. Sasha was so capable, so powerful and skilled, but what he was seeing was intimidating, even to him. The manpower alone was daunting. For a dead society, Hydra had enough people to rival S.H.I.E.L.D. The few goons they’d encountered were also heavily armed. Enhanced as they were, even Steve and Sasha would fall to a well-aimed round.

Since they couldn’t walk through the front door with the Hydra agents watching it from outside, posing as tramps, Sai and Steve got in through a skylight that had already been broken. When they hit the ground, they both froze. There was blood _everywhere_. It wasn’t quite fresh, but wet enough to be a few hours old. The copper tang stung Steve’s nose, and Sai wretched, covering his mouth and nose as if that would somehow make the horror stop.

“It’s not his,” Steve said swiftly, eyes taking in the evidence, though he wasn’t sure who he was comforting. “Look around. Maybe… Maybe we’ll find something.”

“How can you know it’s not his?”

“There’s too much. This blood had to belong to more than one person. Look how spread out it is over the corridor. It’s obvious Sasha was killing them as he went.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not-”

Steve let out a breath of frustration. The kid questioned nearly everything he said.

“Look, here,” he knelt next to the metal table that had been overturned in a corner. “See these marks? That’s from Sasha’s fist. These little ones in the wall opposite? Those are bullets. Sasha’s bullets. The table was over there,” he pointed towards the far side of the room, squinted and shrugged, “Well, it was somewhere, and when they came through the door, Sasha used it as a shield.

“He carried it from there, to here,” Steve motioned to his left and the doorway they hadn’t used, “Firing. The ones he caught against the wall went down here and they had to drag it off later, when they took the bodies out. See?”

Steve motioned to the tracks in the blood. Walking back to where most of the glass was shattered on the ground, he stopped and spread his hands.

“Looks like more came in through the skylight, like we did, and he dealt with them over here.”

“That _doesn’t_ mean-” Sai started again.

Irritated, Steve snapped, “They’re still watching the place so they’re looking for _something_. And here,” he slapped his hand on the wall where he thought the table had originally stood, “these marks in the wall. Little like nail holes, right? Darts. They want him alive.”

Gulping like a fish, Sai went a ghostly shade of white.

“They won't get him alive,” he whispered, “If he can't fight, he _will_ kill himself before going back there.”

Steve swallowed, dropping his hand, no longer buoyed by the simple knowledge that Sasha was alive.

“Then we’ll just have to find him first.”

\----

After a thorough search, they found nothing. Again. In frustration, Steve put his fist through the wall.

“That’s not helpful,” Sai snapped from behind him. “Why do you two think that’s helpful?”

Steve’s heart skipped at the comparison; he just _had_ to get Sasha back.

“Don’t stand behind me, kid,” Steve replied. “Last time…”

Movement caught Steve’s attention from the corner of his eyes. A flash where the light poking through a small hole in the glass windows vanished and returned. Going still, he strained his ears to catch any sound of movement.

“Yeah, uh,” Sai was saying, “about that. Sorry, for, you know, trying to kill you.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry for,” Steve said carefully, wondering if he’d just imagined the movement, “You did good. Family is all we have.”

“I almost killed you,” Sai said dubiously, and Steve focused enough to look at the kid. He looked like he thought Steve was insane. “I would have, too, if you weren’t, you know,” the kid made a vague gesture at Steve’s body.

“I know,” he shrugged, “I would have done the same. You protect what’s yours.”

Another flash of movement, and Steve knew this time he hadn’t imagined it. To keep a lower profile, Steve hadn’t put on the suit, but he had brought his shield. Picking it up now, he motioned for Sai to get down. The kid reacted without hesitation, ducking behind the same table Sasha had used for cover earlier, his knives in his hands. When the Hydra agents, dressed worryingly in the same gear as a STRIKE team, burst through the windows, Steve was the only obvious target. As they opened fire, he dropped to one knee and tucked himself small enough to fit behind the impenetrable vibranium. Bullets pinged and whirred off Steve’s shield, the assault rifles chattering as they spat round after round.

Then someone screamed.

Taking that as a cue, Steve rose and prepared to throw the shield. In the span of the heartbeat he spared to take in the situation, he clocked six Hydra agents, all with assault rifles, all swinging them away from Steve and towards Sai. The kid had buried one of his knives between the kevlar padding of an agent’s knee, effectively drawing all the attention away from Steve.

Deciding the screaming goon was most likely to shoot Sai first, being the closest, Steve adjusted his aim and let go of his shield. The edge took the bastard in the face, knocking him out and backwards several feet. The rebound hit another in the chest, then bounced off a wall and returned to Steve exactly as he’d predicted as he leapt at the nearest Hydra agent.

Completely outmatched, the remaining Hydra agents soon fell. The last one standing drew his gun and shot himself before Steve could do anything to stop him. It was brutal, the updated version of the old-fashioned Hydra suicide capsule he’d seen before, but Steve felt that same numbness he’d known after he lost Bucky. These men were _Hydra_ ; they’d taken someone from him once before, they weren’t going to do it again. If the sons of bitches ended up dead along the way, so be it.

Turning to Sai, he offered the kid his hand to help him up. It was categorically ignored and anger sparked in the boy’s eyes again.

“I didn’t need your help,” he snapped, “I can take care of myself.”

“Don’t doubt it,” Steve said, amused despite himself and feeling a sudden fierce sense of kinship with the skinny teenager. “Thing is, with me, you don’t have to.”

Before Sai could respond, Steve heard the distinct sound of a weapon being unholstered. Without looking, he threw his shield in the direction of the sound and turned, pleased to watch the metal strike and break the outstretched arm of the Hydra agent holding a pistol. The man screamed and curled about the limb, dropping his gun which, Steve realized, had never been pointed at them.

Frowning, Steve approached the man slowly and watched as he flailed, slapped his palm over something shiny on the floor, and clutch it tightly in his fist. Darting forward, he caught the man’s wrist, dug his fingers into his palm, and pulled backwards. Three fingers broke before the Hydra agent released the little metallic stick.

“What is this?” Steve demanded, hovering over the battered goon.

“Hail Hydra,” the goon growled, then bit down on a cyanide tooth. Steve didn’t bother watching him die. Evidently, the suicide capsules were still in use.

Standing, he eyed the device in his hand. A USB drive. Nothing too unusual, except the prongs. They were weird, dual prongs that he’d only seen fit into special terminals at S.H.I.E.L.D. The implications were staggering.

Coming up on his right, Sai asked, “What is that?”

“Something important, I hope,” Steve said, “since he was trying to destroy before we could get our hands on it.” Glancing at the boy, he watched his reaction as he then added, “We’re going to need to call in backup.”

Sai glared at the drive, then up at Steve, but his jaw was tight and hard.

“Just… Save him.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile, reminded of a moment when he’d been in bed with Sasha.

“Helping people is about all I’m good for. Come on, we’re going to Stark Tower.”

\----

Since Steve called to let Tony know they were coming, the billionaire was waiting for them in one of his many research labs. JARIVS had taken them straight in, making Sai jump when he spoke to Steve. It was amusing, but Steve was considerate enough not to laugh at the kid. He also remembered his first time meeting JARVIS, and knew he hadn’t reacted much differently.

“Steve!” Tony chirped as soon as the elevator doors opened. As usual, the greeting was so overly happy that Steve had to smile.

Returning Tony’s hug, he said, “Hey, Tony. I really appreciate you helping me out on this one.”

“Yeah, no problem. Just glad you called me in this time. Was starting to think you’d never put me on your dance card.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve handed over the USB drive. Eagerly snatching it from his hand Tony went to one of the banks of computers and monitors or whatever the hell they were and popped it into a port. (A port Tony shouldn’t have, considering it was classified S.H.I.E.L.D. tech, but Steve hadn’t ever minded his friend’s obsession with knowing everyone’s secrets.)

“Found this while looking for someone,” Steve explained. “Looks like S.H.I.E.L.D. tech, but this is definitely not on their radar. Feels real sketchy.”

“Sketchy? Is that the word of the day, or were you doing the crossword again?”

Sai shot a hard look at Tony, to Steve, and back to Tony. He was nervous, but also calculating, keeping quiet and assessing the situation; Steve could see it clear as day. It reminded him painfully of Sasha.

“I do know how to use the internet, Tony,” Steve said dryly.

With a flick of Tony’s fingers, the data being displayed on the screen exploded around them, projected by holographic technology, or whatever it was Tony had invented. On his left, Sai sucked in air with a harsh gasp, but Steve didn’t look at him. He was just as struck by the images, files, pictures, displayed about them. They were all about Sasha.

One thing in particular caught Steve’s attention. A detailed, almost technical set of pictures of Sasha’s metal arm. Little arrows pointed to certain parts leading to smaller images enhancing those sections. He tored his gaze away to see full length pictures of Sasha in combat gear, or naked, with more arrows and key points. There were x-ray pictures showing a staggering amount of metal attached to a human skeleton. They showed the arm had been grafted onto most of Sasha’s left side, to his ribs, his hips, and spine. Little threads of grey curled around his backbone, along _all_ his bones. And still there was more.

The amount of enhancements was both staggering and exceedingly brutal, worse than Steve had already imagined. So much information. Too much; Steve couldn’t focus on any one thing, his eyes darting from one display to another, his breathing becoming ragged and eyes going ever wider.

“None of this is in the Winter Soldier file,” Steve said in a low voice, feeling his heart trying to beat itself right out of his chest. Confusion, and something that felt like pure rage suffused his whole being. Whoever had done this was a monster.

Tony shot him a glance.

“These aren’t S.H.I.E.L.D. files,” he said, all the exuberant cheer gone from his voice. Another flick of his hands and a too-familiar symbol appeared on every display. “They’re Hydra.”

“On a S.H.I.E.L.D. drive.”

Being as he was a genius, Tony followed Steve’s logic without any trouble.

“At best, Fury has a mole. Worst,” he glanced at Steve, “You gonna be all right? Know you kinda died trying to put these guys down.”

Sai was staring at him again, so Steve slowly forced his hands to unclench from the fists he’d formed with them. There was something unsettling about the way Sai was keeping at least part of his focus on Steve at all times. It made his skin crawl. There was a strange sense of familiarity to it; like how Clint would watch him during sparring or on missions. As if Sai was looking for clues, orders maybe.

“Looks like I didn’t do a good enough job,” Steve said instead of answering the question.

Another glance his way and Tony was back to his unflappable self.

“Why don’t you and the kid take a seat. I’ll go through these, see if I can find anything that’ll help you find your guy. I mean, I’ve made the assumption you’re going after this Winter Soldier, what with the way you two went all gooey-eyed at each other.”

“We’re trying to _save_ him, Tony. From Hydra.”

Tony cut him a sharp, assessing look.

“Isn’t he the one you’re supposed to be taking down, Cap?” Tony asked pointedly. “The one who landed you in the hospital this _most recent_ time?”

Steve smiled and purposely didn’t look at Sai as the kid stilled unnaturally.

“We had a misunderstanding, but yes, he’s the one.”

“And you’re trying to save him, not take him down?”

“Like I said on the phone, this one is strictly off the books. No involvement with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

With a sweep of his hand, Tony captured all the images and tossed them towards a tablet.

“As much as I love screwing with Fury, you gotta give me more than that. What we already know about the Winter Soldier makes even me break out in a cold sweat. His kill list for the last five years is staggering. This -” Tony dragged over a glowing page to hover in the air between them. It was a list with dozens of names. Steve assumed they were the Winter Soldier’s targets. “- is even worse than what we _thought_ we knew. What was on these screens doesn’t even scratch the surface of these files. You don’t know what’s on this drive, you don’t know what we’ll find when we dig deeper. Face it, Justice League, this man is the kind of person we _stop_.”

Before Steve could reply, Sai cut in.

“And who are you to judge him?” The boy’s voice was tight, but strong, even with emotion trembling underneath the words. “The arms dealer responsible for the deaths of thousands of people, not even _aware_ , let alone _caring_. Sasha never had a choice.” Sai clenched his fists. “That’s what Hydra does to you. They strip you of everything you are, everything you were, leaving just an empty husk behind without any will of your own. _You_ had a choice, so if he deserves to die, then so do you.”

For all his emotion, Sai’s voice was even and controlled. There was no doubt he believed in every word.

Tony stared.

“You don’t pull any punches, do you, kid?” Tony said, somewhat unsteadily, before glancing at Steve. “Who’s he again?”

“His name is Sai,” Steve answered, “ _Sasha_ is important to the both of us, Tony.”

“Sasha, huh,” Tony said, picking up the tablet and weighing it as if the data somehow made it heavier. “You doing this for a booty call, Capsicle? Because that’s not like you. If that were the case, I’d have to suggest you were being played just so the Winter Soldier can get closer to his target.”

Any amusement Steve still felt vanished. He took a step forward and Sai darted out of his way. From the corner of his eye, he watched Sai move behind him, half-turned toward the door. It took Steve a second to figure out what he was doing, but when he thought of someone like Natasha doing it, all became clear. The kid was _guarding an escape route_. Steve still didn’t like him _behind him_ , but he thought he could let it go this time.

“Maybe you’re right,” Steve admitted, making his voice hard, “Maybe it is a game to him, but his intentions don’t matter.” Tony started to speak, but Steve kept talking right over him. “Shut up, Tony. You know me better than to think I’m doing this because I’m getting laid. Hydra took someone from me once, someone I loved. I vowed I wouldn’t rest until they were all dead. Now they’re _here_ , they’re _back_ , and I’ll be damned if they take him from me again. So either you help us, or you give me back that drive and I will find someone who will.”

When Tony pretended to shiver, Steve let some of his tension drain away.

“God, I love it when you get all fired up like that. Makes my panties wet.” Tony slapped him on the shoulder and nodded towards the office. “Go, sit. I’ll brief you when I’m done.”

Taking a deep breath to regain his calm, Steve nodded gratefully. Despite his speech, he didn’t know anyone else to turn to with this.

“Thank you, Tony. I mean it.”

“You mean everything you say; it’s sickening. Now get, I have work to do.”

Shaking his head, because Tony could never take any sincere thanks with grace, Steve turned and motioned Sai ahead of him. With gestures he would have used with any soldier, Steve guided the kid to a comfortable part of the lab, replete with couches and gaming systems. Before he sat, he snagged the New York Times and flipped to the crossword, despite knowing Tony would tease him if he saw.

“You’re really twitchy about me being behind you,” Sai commented quietly.

Steve decided not to point out that JARVIS could hear them.

“You know how many times I’ve almost died?”

“No,” Sai answered warily.

Steve picked up a pen and paused, frowning, because he didn’t know either any more. That was probably bad.

“A lot,” he said shortly, “You know how many times I’ve nearly died when it _wasn’t_ my own fault?”

Before Sai could answer, Steve held up a single finger and then pointed it at the kid.

“Right,” Sai muttered, “Won’t stand behind you.”

\----

It took Tony four hours to go through the information on the drive. DUM-E brought them sandwiches, a pitcher of iced tea, and another crossword for Steve. Sai perched on the edge of his seat the entire time, though he did eat the meager meal. It looked stressful as well as uncomfortable, but Steve knew there would be little point in suggesting he relax. It was enough that Sai hadn’t put up more of a fuss coming to Tony in the first place.

There wasn’t much warning when he was done, Tony just draped himself over the back of the couch next to Steve’s shoulder and set a tablet in his lap, a different USB drive plugged into a port. Glancing from it to Tony, Steve frowned at his friend’s unusually drawn expression. Tony looked older somehow, his face was pale and drawn. His jaw was clenched tight and his dark eyes hard. It stoked the panic in Steve, higher simply with how unusual it was to see Tony _visibly_ upset.

“There wasn’t anything on there that will tell you where he is now,” Tony said, too timid, too _normal_. “It’s all about where he’s been. How they made him. What they did...before, during, after; it doesn’t matter. It’s bad, Steve.”

Bad enough, Tony leaned forward to pull out a bottle of Jack Daniels and a glass from a hidden compartment beneath the coffee table. He looked at the glass, then the bottle thoughtfully. With a shrug, he opened it and took four long pulls right from it, not bothering with the glass at all.

“How bad?” Steve asked carefully, hands delicately feeling the edges of the sleek plastic.

Tony sighed.

“Let’s say, if I were him, I wouldn’t want _you_ to see any of that. Not most, _none_.”

Darting a look at Sai, Steve wondered why Tony hadn’t mentioned what Sasha would want the boy to see.

“There’s nothing at all we can use for finding him? Where they would take him?”

“Nope,” Tony shook his head.

Closing his eyes, Steve tried not to see the pictures of Sasha he had already seen. The ones that said someone had treated the man as nothing more than a lab rat. When he looked up again, Tony shot the briefest of glances at Sai before hastily averting his eyes.

“There were files on you, too,” Tony said quietly before taking another swallow from the bottle.

The boy’s lips twisted in a bitter, resigned mockery of a grin.

“I figured.”

Tony fidgeted with the glass, then shoved it back into it’s compartment.

“I’m sorry,” Tony said without looking at Sai.

The kid said nothing.

Steve’s hand closed over the USB drive, pulled it free of the tablet. Ignoring the twisting in his gut that said there might be _something_ on the drive that could lead him to Sasha. He passed the tablet back to Tony. Then he offered the drive itself to Sai.

With nimble fingers, Sai pulled the casing apart, easing the actual chip free in the sure movements of somebody familiar with technology and hardware. His face was carefully blank as he gripped it with both hand and twisted, shattering the small bit of metal and plastic. He then gathered the two pieces that were left behind and dropped them into Steve’s half-full glass of left over tea, destroying it completely. Throughout it all, he didn’t look at either of them.

“Was there anything I _needed_ to know?” Steve asked, voice low.

“From that rabbit hole?” Tony shook his head, downed more of his Jack. “Nothing more than you already do, that you need to find him before Hydra does.”

Tony went to take another swig from the bottle and Steve took it from his hands. The genius sighed, but didn’t argue.

“If he remembers even a portion of what they did to him,” Tony said quietly, “he won’t let them take him alive.”

Steve glanced at Sai because those were the same words the boy had said. Beside him, Tony stirred and stood abruptly.

As he entered the elevator, he tossed out, “I know I wouldn’t.”


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 10

He woke up to pain wracking his body in random, fitful seizures every few moments. He couldn’t focus his eyes and his hearing was fading in and out. There was shouting all around him, somebody yanking at his arm. The pain was making it impossible to concentrate on anything. Where he was, _who_ he was, none of it existed. There was only the pain.

A metallic aftertaste in his mouth suggested he had been shocked with a truly horrendous amount of electricity. Not that he remembered that happening, couldn’t remember how he had gotten here at all. The blinding, throbbing pain in his head was sharp enough to make him sick. Every time the people around him shouted at each other, at him, tugged at him, it spiked like white hot pokers through his skull.

Groggily, he swung his head up and managed to focus his eyes long enough to see his left hand was locked around a wrought iron railing. The railing was attached to a building wall and, try as they might, the strangers tugging at him couldn’t pry it free. Locking mode, his brain supplied, the grip would hold in that position until he actively released it. Until then, he hung from the appendage, his body continuing to convulse at random intervals.

One of the shouting strangers started to pull the railing out of the wall. When it came free, it wouldn’t matter if his hand was locked in place, they could take him with them. He didn’t know much, but whoever they were, it was obvious he didn’t want to do that.

Through the pain, he tried to access his physical state. His flesh arm was useless, twitching randomly and shaking. The pain from his shoulder made it unusable anyway. The agony in his head hadn’t abated, but his eyes were having an easier time focusing. Obviously, the metal arm still worked, but he wouldn’t know about his legs until he tried them.

He released the lock mode and slumped to the ground among victorious shouts from the men milling around him. He breathed shallowly, tensing his legs to determine if they would obey him. They would. Swallowing down the nausea induced by his stabbing pain, he waited.

Rough hands turned him around, preparing to drag him towards the open door of a black van he now could see. He could now see the street beyond, the railing in the wall attached to a nondescript home. They were outside, people milling around and being pushed back by the strangers in black. They weren’t gentle about it.

One of the attackers leaned over to get a better grip on him and he was done waiting. He lashed out with his metal hand, forcing his fingers into the slightly open mouth, breaking teeth, before curling the fingers down and _yanking_. The skin gave, as did the muscles. The strength of the metal arm was much greater than any bone or flesh could stand. The man made an unholy sound as he ripped the whole jawbone out of his face, splattering blood and gore and _teeth_ everywhere.

Rolling over he slammed the sharp pieces of bone into the closest stranger’s eye socket. Both screaming men convulsed, bumping into the others and creating enough confusion to give him time to continue the roll to his feet. Beside him, a stranger started to lift his weapon and he stabbed his metal elbow into his face, caving it in before grabbing his rifle. Opening fire in a wide arch, he gave himself more room to breathe, move, fight.

More screams shattered the day, sounds of cars crashing, and his skull pulsed in agony. The blinding, never-ending pain in his head bloomed white and sharp and all consuming, causing him to stagger sideways, fingers slipping off the rifle to crash to the ground. He followed and it was all that saved him from being shot. The goons opened fire almost immediately after he had, shaking off the confusion faster than he would like. The strangers after him were obviously well trained and gave him no extra time.

Gritting his teeth against the bile rising in his throat, he turned the fall into another roll, managing to end up between two parked cars. Glass from shattered windows rained down on him as the men unloaded into the cars. He crawled under the closest, slithering on his belly, scraping his cheek on the dirty concrete and continued until he was four parked cars away from where he’d fallen.

Lightheaded, nausea clawing at his throat, he crawled to his feet and into oncoming traffic. Cars screeched and swerved, trying to avoid him. The drivers honking made the pain flare again, his vision whiting as he forced his body to continue blindly forward. One of the cars caught him on the hip and forcefully turned him around. He fell into another car, landing face down on the hood and couldn’t force his limbs to move immediately.

When he shook off the dizziness, he realised that the driver was now out of the car, yelling at him. A glance showed his attackers were bearing down on them both, guns held high in the air. The black, armored suits were causing panic among the civilians, but they took no notice.

Completely ignoring the driver, he pushed the guy away and slipped into the driver's seat. The car was still running and he slammed it into drive. Bearing down on the gas pedal, the engine whined as he forced the vehicle between two cars in the neighboring lanes, pushing them aside and finally getting some speed. The back window exploded, spraying glass everywhere. Blood dripped into his eyes, suggesting some had sliced into his scalp, but he just pressed harder onto the gas pedal.

Sasha.

His name was Sasha Marozov.

As he steered the car as fast as possible through the busy city streets, he exhaled cautiously through the nose. He felt stunningly grateful for remembering _who he was_. He didn’t know who the strangers were, yet, but they wouldn’t stop. They would be on his tail faster than he could get away, despite maneuvering where he could, bashing cars aside where he couldn’t.

He could already hear the low thump-thump of helicopters and twisted himself partly out the window to verify how fucked he was. Seeing that they were _news_ helicopters, he caught his first break. They weren’t chasing him from the air, though the cameras watching from above would make it harder to get away.

Things were coming back in fits and starts now. Hydra watching the safehouse. Playing a deadly game of hide and seek for a damn week. Sai gone to ground, but he would offer the deal soon, if he hadn’t already.

In the rearview mirror, Sasha could see the black armoured van as it began to catch up. It was slamming into cars left and right, gaining on him steadily. He only had small weapons, and his car was already the worse for wear. It was only a matter of time before they ran him down. He needed a plan. All he had was pain.

He managed three more blocks, aware of the line of wailing sirens following them only as they made the agony swell again behind his eyes. Then the van slammed into the back of his car, thrusting him forward and locking their vehicles together. The other driver had not only a heavier, better car but was also well-trained in offensive driving. He kept adding speed, forcing both other vehicles over the nearest curve and Sasha’s head first into the side of a building. The impact whipped his head first back into the headrest, then forward into the steering wheel.

Everything went spotty, then black.

He didn’t quite remember how he got out of the car, but found himself on the hard concrete sidewalk. Everything screamed at him, his ribs shrieking with pain, flesh palm hand cut on the glass scattered everywhere. He had no time to rest, forced his knee beneath him and tried to stand. He was almost upright when he heard the van’s door slamming shut. A small sting at the back of his neck quickly turned into a toxic, vicious burn.

 _Not like this_ , he thought blearily.

Fog suffused his already overtasked mind. He pulled the dart free, staggering to his feet only to be thrown back to his knees by the bullet that struck his left side beneath the edge of the kevlar vest under his baggy sweatshirt. The pain was intense, even worse than that in his head, making him retch helplessly. Everything swam and his body rebelled, stomach turning, muscles giving up for a moment before he locked them.

Cursing, he felt the first stirrings of real fear. He was simply too wounded already. He didn’t have enough weaponry and there wasn’t enough time to get more. The Hydra strike teams seemed inexhaustible. He’d killed almost twenty people this last week, but every time he got rid of one squad, another appeared, better armed and better trained than the last. They had kept him on the run for ten days straight with no time for rest. It was taxing even _his_ body’s limits.

He wasn’t going to die like this though. Not on his knees, backed into a corner with two news helicopters circling over him like vultures recording everything. Not like this.

Taking a breath, Sasha steeled himself against the pain and teased the last of his exploding spheres out of his pocket. Even as he was spinning away, away from the crashed car and in between two concrete planters, he rolled the explosive under the van. The explosion was small and measured, the grenade specially designed for urban warfare. It was enough to flip the armored vehicle sideways, crushing two of his attackers underneath.

The other four were already drawing on him again, no longer bothering with darts. That was good; he hated those darts, the way they made his mind foggy and his body try to crawl out of its own skin. Not that he wanted to get shot either, so he ran. Pressing the metal hand as tightly against the hole in his side as he could, Sasha kept his breathing regulated, fighting past the pain that was just everywhere now. No single location hurt more than the rest.

He needed time, needed _space_ , needed ten fucking seconds out of sight.

Turning sharply into a smaller alley, agony exploded somewhere in his right shoulder. Another bullet, another wound. More terrifying was that they weren’t shooting to kill. Even with at least twenty-five of their people dead, they weren’t trying to kill him. Only maim.

By sheer force of will, Sasha stayed on his feet. Another two turns down side streets, the buildings packed too close together for the choppers to see him, and he managed to get enough distance between himself and the Hydra team. He found himself in a dirty dark alley, alone. There was really only one way out. The manhole cover. It was the most disgusting option, but that would work in his favor in some ways. He could no longer fight, could only run. There was a good chance that the Hydra goons on his tail would want to find him _less_ than they would want to wander the sewer system.

As he dropped into the stinking stream of water, he allowed himself a moment of relief. The sewers would either let him escape, or make sure to kill him with infection overload. Either way, there was no way Hydra was getting him alive.

\---

“Tell me again why I’m not wearing a mask?” Steve asked, trying not to breathe through his nose. It wasn’t helping.

There was a sigh from the comm in his ear, but Sai was as tolerant of him as Natasha after five days spent doing nothing but looking for Sasha.

“Because you want him to be able to see your face. Then there’s a better chance he won’t kill you before you can talk to him.”

The boy’s voice was remarkably steady and professional. Some part of Steve had to admit that he was really good on comms, obviously trained by Sasha. He was also familiar with what a super-soldier could and could not easily do. Any normal human would have been run into the ground in an hour flat with the demands Sai made of Steve. Mostly, he thought he kept up well.

“Right,” Steve sighed, then regretted it as he gagged on the overwhelming stench of the sewer water. Sasha really knew how to pick a hiding place.

Slogging through the water full of feces was probably the most disgusting thing he had ever done. His whole body itched to get out, breathe fresh air, see sunlight. Steve had no doubt it was a deliberate tactic, as much for its psychological effect on Sasha’s pursuers as the fact that some parts of the sewer system were old and uncharted. There were old nooks and crannies, blind tunnels off the main lines that led to nothing but a bricked-up walls. There were also remnants of old streets, built over in time, sometimes subway lines.

It was a maze of brick and concrete, the materials denoting when the particular sewer line had been built. There was no light, nothing but the shoulder mounted flashlight Steve had borrowed from S.H.I.E.L.D. More often than not, he had walked past a turn Sai wanted him to take without even seeing it. Water, and a lot _worse_ than water, constantly flowed around his feet. Sometimes it was only a few inches, sometimes it came up to his waist, and the concrete paths at the edges were only available in the newer sections. The sections both Steve and Sai thought were the least likely places Sasha would hide.

Like in every big cities, new streets were built over the bones of the old. Steve shook his head as he passed what what looked to be the remnants of an old street sign, completely rusted out attached to one of the brick walls. They were beneath Junction Boulevard, near 34th, or so Sai assured him. The sewers here were older, made of brick and crumbling mortar, and the water was only a few inches deep, trickling to a stream in a few places. It still smelled to high heaven, but Steve liked not being soaked for a little while.

The discomfort, however, was nothing. It had been two days, two long, horrible days since they’d watched Sasha being hunted down like a rabid animal on the news. Frankly, Steve was holding it together only because of Sai. If Sasha hadn’t died from the gunshot wounds after the choppers lost him, there was go guarantee he hadn’t died later. Though they had narrowed Sasha’s location to the sewers, were hopefully close to finding him, there was no knowing what this place would do to somebody as injured as Sasha. Steve saw him _stagger_ on the video. The man who could drop down several flights of stairs and not even notice the drop was _staggering_ , weaving on his feet as he tried to escape. They’d shot him at least twice, maybe even three times, but not enough to cause such visible physical distress. It suggested a level of injury Steve actively tried not to imagine. though he was carrying a backpack full of triage supplies, including enough adrenaline and morphine to kill a horse.

“Take a left here,” Sai instructed and Steve obeyed without question.

The kid still didn’t completely trust him, but they worked well together. During their search, their late-night brainstorming sessions on how to track Hydra, or Sasha, or obtain impossible intel, they’d formed a loose bond. When Steve had spent hours tracking Sasha’s run through Woodside, going over every possible angle before the choppers had lost him, Sai had been there every step of the way. When he had realized there was only one way out of the borough without being picked up by the choppers again, Sai had somehow found copies of every map of the sewer system created over the last century. While Steve borrowed gear from S.H.I.E.L.D., Sai had created a search grid. Though he had checked it, Steve couldn’t find a single fault. Sasha had taught his kid well.

The new tunnel was even drier than the last, sloping upwards, and probably not actually ever used for sewage waste. Smuggling, Steve thought absently, maybe during Prohibition; they weren’t close enough to the river that they could be older, he thought. It dead-ended at another wall, this one constructed of modern concrete, probably someone’s basement. A pile of debris and trash had accumulated in the corners, likely left over when some homeless person had used the place as a home.

“Nothing,” Steve reported, “Dead end. Headed back.”

“You’ve been at this for eight hours,” Sai said, “You should come up for water and something to eat.”

The boy was quite stern about Steve eating regularly high-calorie meals. He was worse than the dietician S.H.I.E.L.D. had assigned to Steve in the early days after his defrosting.

“Let’s finish the sweep under 34th fi-”

There was no warning. A metal arm swung around from the left, and Steve barely got his hand up between it and his throat. He opened his mouth to call out, but a hard kick to the back of knee had him yelping and nearly falling. He could feel a heavy, muscular body pressed behind him, throwing off heat like a furnace. Sasha wasn’t fucking around. His next move was to try to drive a knife into one of Steve’s kidneys, but the blade screeched over the heavy ceramic armor Sai had insisted he borrow with the rest of the S.H.I.E.L.D. gear. 

Twisting, Steve grabbed hold of the metal arm, still doing its best to crush his throat, and flipped the man over him. He expected Sasha to land gracefully; the throw was basic and Steve telegraphed it badly, but Sasha hit the ground flat on his back with a heavy whump.

“Steve?” Sai sounded surprisingly panicked, but there wasn’t time to address him.

Steve saw Sasha start to roll to the left and threw himself at the supine man to keep him from getting to his feet. Even with the stench of the tunnel about him, getting close to Sasha was horrible. The incredible stink coming off him was distracting as they grappled. The metal arm gouged deep bruises into Steve’s shoulder before he managed to flip Sasha over. Steve wrangled him into a submissive hold, metal arm twisted at an awkward angle, his own arm over Sasha’s throat, and his legs wrapped firmly about Sasha’s to prevent him from kicking free.

If things went bad, like they were, Steve had expected to have a horrible fight on his hands. The moment he felt Sasha lock his metal arm around his neck, he’d known that was the scenario he was dealing with. He well remembered how fierce in hand-to-hand combat Sasha was, how brutally effective, but this was...something else. Sasha thrashed in his hold and wailed, but he wasn’t fighting _right_. He was using his strength as a bludgeon, relying on it instead of his training.

Heart in his throat, Steve desperately tightened his hold, restraining Sasha further, now certain that something was very, very wrong with the assassin. Despite the hold, Sasha continued to struggle. There was a distinctive pop as the man’s flesh shoulder dislocated from its socket. It happened a little too easy, indicating the socket was already damaged, or hadn’t had time to heal. 

Steve felt nauseous, hating that he was hurting Sasha, and unable to make the man stop.

“Sasha!” he shouted, trying to get Sasha to recognize him. “Stop, it’s okay! I don’t want to hurt you!”

“He doesn’t understand you!” Sai barked at him suddenly, voice tight but clear. “Tell him- Tell him to stand down. Call him “soldier”. Tell him his mission is complete!”

That made no sense. None of it made sense, but Steve had come to trust Sai, even if the feeling wasn’t mutual.

“Stand down, soldier,” Steve commanded, pulling out his stage voice, “Your mission is complete. _Stand down_.”

To his shock, and no little horror, Sasha went limp in his arms. 

“Christ,” Steve muttered.

Carefully he unwound himself from Sasha, crouching over him to get a look at the man he’d been hunting for for days. Bedraggled didn’t even begin to describe his state. He was filthy, body and clothes encrusted with layer upon layer of Steve-didn’t-know what. What was usually a tidy scruff was a full beard now, also matted with filth. The long hair, normally well cared for, was matted and oily, tangled so Steve had to push it out of his face to see his eyes. They were closed, but Sasha was breathing, hard and fast and uneven.

“I got him,” Steve told Sai, knowing the kid would be waiting to hear the words. “He’s in a bad way. Get me the fastest route out of here.”

“Back the way you came, a left, then another and there should be a manhole above you.”

“Copy.”

Sliding his arms underneath Sasha, Steve winced at how the man looked. What he saw between the hair and the facial growth looked sunken and sallow, his skin pasty grey where it wasn’t caked with sewer sludge. Malnourished, certainly feverish. Steve hadn’t seen any wounds, but they would be hidden beneath the grime and clothing anyway. As it was, slinging Sasha into the fireman’s carry still took an effort, all the metal in his body giving him weight even when the flesh was wasting away. They had Sasha now, but it was clear they weren’t out of the woods yet.

“I’m bringing the van to where you’ll emerge,” Sai informed him and, sure enough, when Steve finally crawled his way out of the manhole, maneuvering Sasha’s dead weight, the van they’ed ‘borrowed’ pulled up seconds later.

Parking, Sai jumped out the driver's side and slammed the sliding door open. Steve carried Sasha inside, set him on the center seat, legs draped off the end, and knelt with his back to the driver’s seat.

“Home,” Steve ordered as soon as Sai was seated. “My home.”

No one had to tell him they couldn’t go to a hospital. Sai didn’t have to be told to drive fast. Though he twitched and muttered - Russian, German, bits of words Steve couldn’t understand - in daylight Sasha was worse than Steve had originally thought. The filth on his clothes was definitely from the sewer, but it was heavily flaked with dried blood. When his eyes fluttered open, they were shot with red, pupils small pinpricks in a sea of grey. They darted everywhere, then closed. His lips were so pale they were white, and Steve prayed they weren’t too late.

At the house, they had to wait for an older couple out for a dawn dog walk to pass before Steve could carry Sasha inside. They went straight upstairs through to the master bathroom. It was spacious, completely redone because Steve had gotten tired of forcing his bulk into a cramped space. The clawed tub was big enough they could sit Sasha against the back and his legs would lie flat.

“Scissors,” Steve ordered Sai, “under the sink.”

The heavy metal handles slapped into Steve’s outstretched palm and he set to work cutting off what he vaguely recognized as a sweatshirt and jeans. Beneath the former, he discovered a kevlar vest and pulled that off, tossing it in the corner with the other remnants. He froze then, staring at the horrible bruising and red inflamed wounds covering nearly all of Sasha’s torso. The man should, by all evidence, be dead.

“Please,” Sai muttered, “Please, help him.”

It was what Steve needed to hear to get hold of himself.

“My bag,” he instructed, “In the van. Get it, bring it here, along with the white tool box under the kitchen island.”

Sai scrambled up and away. Turning to the tap, Steve started the water because, before they could do anything else, they had to get Sasha clean.

“This body is damaged.”

Hearing Sasha’s voice, weak and rough, would have been soothing if the words weren’t so...wrong.

“It is not mission ready,” Sasha said thickly, and Steve looked to find his gaze as unsteady as ever. “It will need repairing before being used again.”

 _It. This_. Not me, not I. Steve wanted to vomit. The hot water pouring from the tap, loosening the filth on Sasha and filling the room with the fresh scent of sewer waste wasn’t helping.

“Stand down, soldier,” Steve ordered, overblown command voice from the stage always easy to fall back on.

Sasha relaxed, but his gaze remained fixed on Steve. His eyes were flat and blank, no recognition in his gaze at all.

“What is the mission?” he asked.

Steve swallowed, but didn’t look away from Sasha as Sai ran back in the room.

“The mission is complete,” Steve said, “Your orders are to stand down for...for repair. Until then, there is no new mission.”

The strength seemed to go out of Sasha, and Steve scrambled forward to make sure he was still breathing, his heart still pumping. He was and it was, but Steve’s hand kept shaking. Sai was staring at him again.

“Get the towels from the linen closet,” Steve ordered, and there was nothing now but the stage voice. He couldn’t handle anything else. “Get the sheets, too. If it’s clean, bring it in here.”

Again Sai darted away to do his bidding without question, and Steve had a moment to get himself back under control. With the water running, pooling around Sasha’s limp form, Steve wet the washcloth already in the bathroom and started to scrub. It took nearly an hour to get Sasha clean, even with Sai returning to help. There was just _so much_ grime and blood, and the water ran black, red, yellow, with the accumulation of days spent in the sewers. Later, Steve wouldn’t remember much past the water. The sight of it, he knew, would never quite leave him.

When there was nothing but pink scrubbed skin left, they finally got to work on Sasha’s wounds. There were three bullet wounds - one in his side, one in his shoulder, one a graze along his arm - multiple fractured ribs, and the flesh arm had to be reset. Steve was fairly certain Sasha had sustained more than a few head injuries as well, but there was nothing he could do about those aside observation. If Sasha needed treatment for a head wound, they would have no choice but to go to a hospital. How Steve would keep Sasha safe then was too much to contemplate.

Digging out the two bullets made Sai wretch into the toilet, but Steve didn’t have that luxury. He didn’t have the luxury of his previously-shaking hands, or of giving in to his nausea and fear. Not when he had to cut into Sasha, cut out the lead, clean out the pus-filled holes, and set Sasha’s shoulder. All the while, Sasha was fading in and out of consciousness, sometimes blankly watching him work despite Steve having nothing to dull the pain. There just wasn’t anything strong enough for people like them.

Time slipped away from Steve. When he was done, he had no idea how much time had passed. Carefully, he carried Sasha’s now-dry, bandaged, but still-naked body to his bed and tucked him in. He couldn’t stay, though, returning to the bathroom to wash his hands. He could _feel_ the grime on them, the blood, the pus, and slick slide of muscle from when he had pushed his fingers inside them. All of it, all at once, knotted up Steve’s stomach as he tried to just _get it off_. He turned the water up hot, hotter than he could stand, but it didn’t help. Nothing helped, and he knew he was losing it, but if he could just get his hands clean, or if he could stop _touching_ them, he would be okay.

“Steve?”

Hands, smaller than his own, wrapped around his wrists and pulled. He followed the movement, not because he wanted to, but because he worried the water would burn Sai. Steve’s own hands were red, not blistered, not quite, but burned. Yet, even as he stared at them, trying to see what he could still feel, they were already healing.

Hands starting to shake, Steve slowly clenched them into fists, but stopped as Sai’s hands curled into his own.

“You need to eat something,” the kid said sternly, sounding a lot like Steve’s own stage voice, “Come down with me and I’ll get you something.”

“We shouldn’t leave him-” Steve started to protest.

“He’s fine now,” Sai interrupted, “For a little while, anyway. We need you at your best, and you’re already running on too little sleep. Eat, then keep your vigil.”

Peggy always said Steve was his at best when he had someone to look out for. Now he took a deep breath and regained some kind of calm.

“Okay,” he agreed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are seriously overworking our poor beta!

Chapter 11

Sasha woke disoriented, heart beating increasing rapidly as he remembered the last few days in fits and starts. He didn’t open his eyes, however, didn’t offer anyone watching a hint that he was no longer asleep. The bed he was in was comfortable, soft and warm. He was naked, but someone had tended to his wounds, swathing them in bandages. The scratch of pencil on paper from somewhere nearby told him that, yes, he was being watched. Sasha took a deep breath through his nose to see if he could sense anything by smell, but there was nothing. In a way, that was good. A dungeon, a laboratory, or anywhere with a lot of guns, had a very distinctive aroma.

Carefully opening his eyes, he immediately recognized Steve’s bedroom, but he didn’t let himself relax just yet. Late afternoon sunlight streamed in through the windows, and when he darted his eyes about the room, he didn’t see Sai, only Steve. That could be either good or bad; he wasn’t sure. What he did know was that Hydra was after him, had almost had him one too many times, and now he was here.

Sasha glanced about again. There were no guards, so that was something. Hydra wouldn’t leave him unguarded, or in Steve’s home. S.H.I.E.L.D., on the other hand, might if Captain America insisted. There would be guards, though, outside. Downstairs. _Somewhere_. Surveillance, too. Cameras, microphones, probably heat sensors. He would need to watch his heartbeat; monitor his breathing.

Despite the potential dangers, Sasha found himself staring at Steve. He had pulled a chair next to the bed, a notebook in his lap, the pencil in his hand flying over the page. There was no concern in his face, just concentration as he worked on whatever it was he was sketching. Vaguely, Sasha wondered if Steve would let him see what it was at some point. Steve had always been very cagey about letting people see his work before it was done. 

Sasha backed up a little, examining the last thought. That was not something he knew, a fact Sasha had _no reason_ to know.

Serious eyes flicked from the sketch pad to Sasha’s face and widened in surprise.

“You’re awake,” Steve said, and set down the sketchpad to reach to the bedside table for a glass of water, “Here.”

Without hesitation, Steve sat on the bed, but then abruptly stopped, freezing in place almost comically. He _asked_ , “Let me help you up?” and Sasha prayed for the first time, that he hadn’t been captured, because if _this_ was what he would have to deal with, he knew they would break him so easily this time. They had always broken him, eventually, but if they used Steve to do it, it would hurt so much more.

Only after Sasha nodded was Steve willing to slide his arm beneath Sasha’s shoulders, pulling him up and close so he could lean against Steve to drink the water. His ribs screamed bloody murder at him, and his side pulsed with a fiery, sickening pain that made his vision white out for a moment. Even the grip of Steve’s hand on his shoulder hurt, a dull ache that indicated something was wrong with the joint.

For a moment Sasha hesitated to follow through, wondering if the water had been drugged, but eventually he drank without questioning. If they’d planned to drug him, Steve wouldn’t have been told, and Sasha was fairly certain whoever tried would have had to answer to Captain America.

“Slow,” Steve instructed as he swallowed, “You’re a fast healer, but I haven’t had to perform battlefield medicine in a couple years. It was rough, even with Sai’s help.”

If Steve had to patch Sasha up himself, there was a good chance he wasn’t going to have to kill whoever might try to stop him getting the kid out of here. No matter how much he liked Steve, he would go through him in a heartbeat to keep Sai out of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hands.

“Sai?” Sasha asked cautiously.

“Yeah, your kid is safe,” Steve said so easily, as if it was true, “You wanna tell me why I had to find out you needed help from him and _not you_?”

Sasha chanced another look around the room.

“You work for them.”

The wounded look that appeared in Steve’s eyes made Sasha’s head ache. Yet, Steve sounded sarcastic when he spoke again.

“And here I thought we’d come to an understanding about me turning you in.” As careful with him as he had been before, Steve eased Sasha back onto the pillows. “At least it’s not personal.”

Sasha was honestly too tired to figure out why Steve was upset with him.

“That hurts you,” he said, “Why?”

“You almost died,” Steve said, voice low, eyes on his hands as he tucked Sasha back under the covers, “and you didn’t trust me to help you.”

“Are you-” Sasha licked his lips, trying to understand this. “Sai came here, offered the deal, and you didn’t take it? You just… And no one knows I’m here?”

Sasha’s head hurt, his whole _body_ hurt in one way or another, and it was hard to focus. He wasn’t sure what he was even saying, wanting to believe Steve so badly, he couldn’t even trust it.

“No one who will admit to it,” Steve answered, plucking the glass from his hand and setting it back on the bedside table. He was moving slowly, deliberately making it easy for Sasha track his movements. “I’m going to go let Sai know you’re awake and work on getting a meal ready.”

Finally, Steve met his gaze again, but the blue eyes were hard.

“Don’t you get out of this bed,” he ordered.

It was the first order Sasha could recall Steve giving him and he didn’t react at all like he normally would. There was no instinctive recoil, no urge to go against the instruction just because he could and damn well _would_. He just…agreed. It was disconcerting.

“Okay,” Sasha said quietly.

From the bed, he listened as Steve went downstairs, and spoke with someone on the floor below. A few moments later, two sets of footsteps sounded on the stairs, one coming up, one going down. Then Sai was in the doorway.

The kid looked horrible. There were dark circles under his eyes and his hair was a mess. His eyes flicked over Sasha quickly before he made his way to the bedside. Climbing on the bed, he sat cross legged beside Sasha.

Without needing to be asked, Sai delivered a status report in quick, quiet words, telling Sasha everything he would want to know as soon as possible.

“You weren’t yourself when he found you,” Sai murmured, tangling his fingers together in his lap, remaining contained, but obviously fighting to stay composed. “You were gone for ten days before we saw that shooting near 37th and Broadway. It took us another two days to track you down after that. We found you in the sewer system around 34th and Junction. You didn’t recognize Steve or me. Steve managed to subdue you and we got you here. There were a lot of injuries to take care of - I will provide a list later - and you’ve been unconscious since. About twelve hours.”

The way the kid was tightly clenching his hands together looked as though he was stopping himself from reaching out.

Sai’s words from their last fight echoed in his mind, “ _Did it ever occur to you, you dumb fuck, that you’re all I have_?!”

Hand still slightly clumsy from pain, Sasha reached for Sai’s elbow. Sai became immediately quiet, turning to watch the fingers that closed around him with an odd expression.

“Come here,” Sasha invited, tugging at the elbow in his grip.

Slowly, awkwardly, Sai uncurled himself from the way he was sitting, all folded up on himself, and scooted up the bed to fit himself carefully against Sasha’s side. His eyes kept darting to Sasha’s face every few seconds, as if checking that this was actually what Sasha meant. Sasha only tugged at him harder, moving the arm to make more space for the kid. He was mostly just skin and bones, any grace he’d ever managed to display abandoned as he somehow managed to poke both the bullet wound in Sasha’s side and rest his head on exactly the most painful spot on Sasha’s shoulder.

Sasha only grunted softly and pulled Sai closer, hugging him just as awkwardly as Sai was cuddling him. They were so bad at this it was almost funny.

“I’m okay, Sai.”

The teenager curled his hands into the soft sheets so hard his knuckles turned white.

“You were never hurt this bad before,” he whispered, not looking at Sasha.

Sasha exhaled slowly, patting the boy’s back. He couldn’t reach his head and anything else seemed inappropriate somehow.

“This is nothing, this is just the body. As long as my mind was still my own, I would have found my way back to you. I promise.”

Sai was quiet for a long time before he said, voice shaky, “I don’t like it. I don’t like that you got so hurt, that I had to even _think_ about making a deal and selling you out to save myself. I _hated_ that, Sasha.” The boy sniffed, tilting his head to hide his face from Sasha’s sight. “Please don’t make me do that again.”

In those few moments, voice trembling, Sai showed more vulnerability than he had in the last five years altogether.

“Please,” he pleaded again.

Sasha tried never to make promises he couldn’t keep, but he hated seeing Sai shaken this badly even more. Though he hesitated now, Sasha finally promised, “I won't.”

It wouldn't be easy, but with enough effort and planning, Sasha could reduce the danger to himself significantly. If he could kill for Sai, he could also do his best to keep himself alive for him.

After several minutes, Sai pulled away from the embrace.

Swinging his legs over the bed, he said, “I’m going to help Steve with dinner. Between the two of you, we’ll probably be eating a whole horse.” He looked back, expression still more open than Sasha was used to, and reached out to tug at the facial hair Sasha hadn’t realized he was sporting. “You should get cleaned up. Take another bath. There’s more bandages and things in the bathroom. Steve’s got a really weird amount of medical supplies.”

Sasha raised an eyebrow. If it was a weird amount for _them_ , it must really have been a lot.

Sai shrugged, reading him with the ease of longtime acquaintance.

“I don’t know why. Didn’t have time to ask and he’s been…” Sai stopped. “We were worried about you for a while there.”

“I’m okay,” Sasha promised again.

“Yeah, well,” Sai shrugged, “Go get cleaned up, you look like a demented Russian lumberjack.”

Hopping off the bed, Sai wasted no time getting out the door. He didn’t head past the second floor, though, and Sasha guessed his retreat had little to do with wanting to help Steve. However they’d found him must have been worse than he remembered.

The bathroom wasn’t a mess, but Steve, or Sai, hadn’t bothered to clean the place completely. There was a smear of something disgusting in the corner, a ring of blood-encrusted water around the tub, and towels, both clean and filthy, haphazardly tossed into another corner. The supplies, Sasha discovered, were in the white tool box still open on the bathroom floor. Sai was right, there was a weird collection of supplies, everything someone could need to patch up most any wound. Steve had said he hadn’t needed to use his ‘battlefield medicine’ in the last few years, but he wasn’t quite sure if that was true any more.

He rummaged through Steve’s cabinets until he found an old fashioned razor. The kind Sasha was more comfortable using on a man’s throat. The shaving cream, at least was modern, and his hands steady. It was actually oddly familiar, the careful swipe of the blade over skin, like he’d done this before. Often; like his hands still remembered how, even when he didn’t.

Mindful of his injuries, he kept the shower quick, but made sure his hair was as clean as it could be. It was so _good_ to be clean again, even the fatigue in his limbs was fading with the pleasant feeling and smell of soap. On the sink, he found a green bottle, a hair tonic he’d never seen before and looked rarely-used. When he put some in his hands, the smell was familiar, and he automatically slicked back his hair with practiced movements as practiced as those he’d used while shaving. When he glanced in the mirror, he had to admit it was a good look.

After replacing his bandages, Sasha looped a towel about his waist and wondered if he’d fit into any of Steve’s sweatpants and tops. When he entered the main room, Steve was back, digging through his dresser for the clothing Sasha had been planning to find. He looked up as Sasha came in, a ready smile on his face. It vanished the moment he locked eyes on Sasha. He became pale as a sheet in the space of a single heartbeat, eyes wide and mouth dropping open, but not in a good way. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost, his mouth now opening and closing a few times without any sound coming out.

Wood cracked, splintering, and Sasha looked to see Steve gripping the edge of the dresser so hard he’d snapped the molding clean off. When Sasha looked back up, Steve scrubbed a hand over his face and it was shaking.

Sasha tensed, alarm beating in his chest, sure that something was wrong. Surreptitiously he checked the reflection in the windows, half-convinced there was something behind him, but there wasn’t. Steve was looking at _him_.

“Sorry,” Steve managed horsely, barely audible, “You look. Just. Bucky. You look just like Bucky.”

The name sent a shiver of pain up the back of Sasha’s neck and into the base of his skull.

“Who,” Sasha made himself ask, “is Bucky?”

Steve waved vaguely at his wall of pictures.

“He is, was,” he swallowed hard, “Dead. He’s dead. I’m sorry, I haven’t slept in a few days and Sai says I’m not eating right. Must be seeing ghosts.”

It was a visible effort for Steve to look away from him, but he didn’t look at the photos either, and Steve was always looking at those damned photos.

“The guy in the sketch?” Sasha pressed. This was the first time Steve’s ever mentioned that Sasha looked like someone he had once known. It didn’t matter that this was hard on Steve; he had to know.

“Yeah,” Steve said hoarsely, his eyes flicking back to Sasha’s face to dart back and forth as if he had never seen him before. “There’s always been a resemblance, but,” he swallowed hard, forced himself to look away again, “right now, you could have been twins.”

“You cared for him,” Sasha stated, careful because he didn’t want Steve to shut down and lose this line of questioning.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Steve said sharply, “You don’t get to be jealous of him. We never… There was nothing. He was family. All I had.”

The thing was Sasha wasn’t jealous. He was…curious, yes, but necessarily jealous. He didn’t know if he had something in common with that man in the sketches, if he was him. Maybe he was a clone, a science experiment, or it was just a freaky coincidence that given him a dead man’s face. Hell, for all he knew Hydra could have changed his appearance with plastic surgery in order to _make_ him look like that man. Sasha had no answers, just many, many questions.

“Besides that, he’s dead. So, don’t.”

Sasha cleared his throat, feeling unsettled by proxy, with how much Steve was fidgeting with the broken molding.

“How did he die?”

“Don't make me tell you!” Steve snarled, suddenly viciously angrily. It was the first time Sasha had ever seen the emotion in him. “Any second-grader knows how the _only_ Howling Commando died! It’s in all the history books! Maybe not with pictures, but he was the only one, the only one who actually _died_ during the war!”

“I’m not American,” Sasha reminded Steve quietly, “I don’t know your history very well.”

The abrupt anger vanished as as quickly as it had appeared.

“I didn’t save him,” Steve said dully. “That’s how he died. He fell and I didn’t catch him. He saved my life and I just…”

Steve curled forward, bracing against the dresser again and pressing his fingers hard against his eyelids.

“Fell?” Sasha asked hoarsely, the word making something incredibly tight and cold awake in his chest. It _hurt_ , and Sasha didn’t know why.

Steve could only nod. There were no tears, but he wasn’t what anyone could call steady. He wasn’t looking at Sasha any more either.

“He wouldn’t have even been there if I hadn’t wanted to fight so bad. In the War.”

Agitated again, emotions flipping like a switch, Steve pushed away from the dresser and paced to the end of the room. His hands were like angry hornets moving here and there in sharp, jerky movements.

“I haven’t known you all that long, but you strike me as a do-it-yourself kind of guy. I doubt you asked him to go after you.” Sasha said, watching Steve move nervously around the room. “If he followed you, it meant he wanted to.”

“I asked,” Steve snapped, “He’d been captured, tor- When I got him back, they would have sent him home, but he volunteered to stay. Because I _asked_.” He went still again, staring at the sketch. “I just...didn’t think I could do it without him. Considering I flew a plane into the ocean two days later, turned out I couldn’t.”

Sasha licked his lips, strangely terrified by the things Steve was saying, by the intensity of love he was unknowingly displaying.

“Is it just my face that reminds you of him?” he asked, trying to change the subject a little. He’d had too many close encounters with death recently to want to talk about dying now.

Carefully reaching for the sketch, Steve drew his fingers down the edge and shook his head.

“Sometimes, the way you say my name. Or how you hold your guns. You have a very similar body shape and every once in awhile, the way you move… It’s… It’s uncanny, actually. I know you probably don’t want to hear it, but it’s not why…” Without looking, Steve gestured vaguely between them. “It’s not why I do this. I know he’s gone and you’re not even the first person I’ve seen that’s reminded me of him. Just...“ Steve looked down guiltily. “You’re the first that seems so much like him at a second, or third, glance. If it wasn’t impossible, I would think that you _are_ him.”

Despite the fact that Steve still wasn’t looking at him, Sasha was very careful not to flinch, not to show how those words affected him. Body shape and peculiarities of movement excluded the possibility of this being just a coincidence or plastic surgery. Those would only be responsible for his looks. Of course, Steve could be transferring his longing onto Sasha and seeing what he wanted to, but Steve never struck Sasha as that kind of person. He was broken, sure, but in different ways.

Sasha wanted to press for more, wanted Steve to deliver a blow-by-blow report, with dates and names and pictures to erase all the questions plaguing his mind. But he looked at Steve and saw how pale he was, how agitated. There was honest grief shining through Steve’s eyes and that…that made Sasha swallow his questions. It made him put Steve’s well-being higher on his priority list than his need for answers.

“You said something about food?” he offered half heartedly.

Steve sagged, jumping at the change in topic.

“Yeah, it’s ready. I actually came up here to get you. Don’t want you taking the stairs by yourself just yet.”

Jerking away from the photos, Steve went back to the dresser and pulled out a pair of blue sweats and a t-shirt.

“Let me help you?” he asked as he walked over.

Sasha didn’t think he’d ever get over the way Steve alway asked.

“Yeah,” he answered. “I’d like that.”

\---

Sasha watched Steve putter around the bedroom, pulling clothes from the drawers, gathering a spare pillow from his closet with a growing sense of unease.

“What are you doing?” he asked, seeing Steve try to bundle everything together to carry them out.

“Oh, I…” Steve sounded more than a little confused. “The couch? I need some more linens for it and-”

“Why?” Sasha interrupted, still feeling strangely off-balance.

Steve blinked at him.

“I don’t have any more spare rooms,” Steve answered, looking baffled.

“Why would you need more spare rooms?”

Steve frowned at him.

“Because Sai took my actual spare room when he showed up out of the blue a week ago like the harbinger of doom that he is?”

Sasha looked at Steve, equally baffled.

“But you already have a bedroom.”

Steve nodded slowly, like Sasha was the slow one here.

“I know. You’re staying in it.”

Sasha took a deep breath, or as deep as his broken ribs allowed. God, give him strength to deal with innocents.

“Which is why I am asking: What are you doing moving out of your bedroom?”

The question didn’t help. Steve looked positively scandalised now.

“I won’t make _you_ sleep on the couch! You’re hurt!”

Sasha exhaled through his nose, slowly, making sure the action was twice as long as his inhale had been. Who would have thought that he would need his sniper training to deal with Steve-fucking-Rogers.

“And is there any particular reason we can’t share your bedroom while I’m here? Is your bed restricted to one nationality at a time? Will it break if we both lie down on it?”

The frown Steve gave him would have been almost adorable if it hadn’t been so damned frustrating.

“No, but I wasn’t going to just...assume you’d be all right with me there.”

“Steve, how many times have we had sex?” Sasha asked with forced patience. “We even had sex in a public space! That does imply a certain amount of consent, doesn’t it?”

“But,” Steve licked his lips, “you never stayed.”

It was Sasha’s turn to blink this time, surprised. There was stalking the Avenger’s prey and then there was plopping himself in the middle of them. Sasha was a risk-taker but he wasn’t openly suicidal.

“You have more spies near you, calling, or coming to visit you than I see in a year. Of course I made myself scarce.”

“That’s the only reason?” Steve questioned, but he was putting down his bundle.

Sasha rolled his eyes, a gesture he thought he had picked up from Steve.

“Yes.”

Tilting his head to the side curiously, Steve came to the bed and sat on the edge.

“Why do you trust me at all, then? Because you’re certainly not wrong about all the people in my life, or my work.”

That again. Sasha grimaced.

“I trust you,” he admitted, “just not everyone else.”

Steve looked amused.

“I asked you why?”

“You-” Sasha scowled. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

With a shrug, Steve covered Sasha’s hand with his own, the first time they’d touched outside of Steve helping him all day.

“I suppose not. You’re sure?”

Fed up with this, Sasha sat up, ignored Steve’s protest, and tugged Steve to him. He kissed him, hard, but Steve quickly took his face in his hands and pulled back. Instead of breaking the kiss, though, he only made it gentler. This wasn’t their normal rough, passionate lip-lock. It was light, sweet, careful, as if Steve thought Sasha was something precious and fragile.

“I might hurt you,” Steve protested weakly, his lips still just barely brushing Sasha’s, not quite ending the kiss.

Sasha huffed.

“By sleeping next to me?” he scoffed, “I’m not that fragile.”

Steve ran a hand, very gently over the flesh shoulder, just across the bandaged bullet wound. The heavy bruising was still visible from the multiple dislocations he’d suffered in a short amount of time.

“I don’t know. You look plenty fragile to me.”

There was something in the way Steve touched Sasha, so carefully, that made Sasha want it. Want it badly, to be touched, to be held. Suddenly, fiercely, he wanted Steve to take care of him. The whole notion was odd, but that didn’t stop the _want_. Experimentally Sasha tilted his body in, subtly projecting vulnerability and vague submission, and was pleased when he felt Steve’s hands on his hips, steadying him, holding him.

Steve kissed his cheek, then his neck, and then lower to his shoulder, stopping at the purple line of bruises.

“I don’t even know where to touch you, it’s either bandages or bruises everywhere,” Steve murmured, pressing his lips to Sasha’s smoothly-shaved cheek and dragging them over the newly-naked skin.

Sasha huffed out a quiet laugh, holding tightly to Steve’s arms when the action turned out to hurt like hell too.

“I think the only part of me not damaged in some way is my cock,” he complained absently.

Steve laughed, long and pleased, holding Sasha against his chest. “God forbid that gets damaged,” he teased. “Let’s get you settled and see if we can figure this out.”

With a nod, Sasha gave the permission he already knew was being asked for in that statement. Ever so gently, Steve laid him back on the pillows and helped him scoot over. He didn’t join Sasha right away, standing to turn off the light and yank off his shirt before crawling under the covers. When he didn’t come any closer, Sasha scowled.

“What?” Steve asked.

“You’re too far away.”

Another laugh, but Steve carefully moved himself against Sasha’s side. Easing his arm beneath Sasha’s shoulders, Steve tugged their bodies flush, and carefully spread his fingers over Sasha’s stomach. There was bruising there, but no broken bones, so it wouldn’t hurt too much. Sweetly, Steve nosed at his temple, then brushed his lips over Sasha’s skin before settling down with his forehead pressed to Sasha’s.

“Better?” Steve whispered.

“Yeah,” Sasha shivered. “Perfect.”

It wasn’t, not exactly, he hurt and ached, but oddly enough he felt _safe_. Protected. Even when Steve quickly fell asleep, breath easy and even, that didn’t change. It took longer for Sasha, between the pain and the strangeness of having a body wrapped about his own. When he did sleep, though, it was deeper than he’d fallen in a long time.

\---

Steve woke after only four hours. It was still one of the longest rests he’d had since waking up in this century. In general he didn’t sleep a lot. One reason was that his body needed much less sleep than before the serum, the other was his chronic insomnia. This time, he didn’t wake for either of those reasons. He knew he wasn’t alone in the bed long before he woke fully, the sense of another body pressed to him coming to him before he was fully aware.

Somehow, Sasha was sleeping on his injured shoulder and looked almost peaceful. The man was still a little flushed, probably still running a slight fever, but sleeping very deeply for who he was. Steve worried briefly about Sasha sleeping in that position, but eventually decided not to interrupt the sleep he so desperately needed. Besides, if Sasha could sleep so deeply, the pain mustn't be too great.

Another part of Steve was glad for this moment of quiet. Sasha was asleep, relaxed and uncharacteristically vulnerable next to him. For the first time, Steve could finally look at him without him fidgeting away or taking control of the situation and distracting Steve. He had noticed the way Sasha always manipulated things so Steve would be too busy with something, usually his own body, to notice too many details of Sasha’s. Whatever encounters they’d had, Steve never had enough time to really look at it, to sate his curiosity the way he’d wanted.

It still stunned him that he wouldn’t have realised Sasha had a bionic arm that first time if he hadn’t been briefed about it beforehand. Sasha probably used some kind of cloaking technology, but still the arm fascinated Steve. The kind of power it displayed when in a fight, the images Natasha showed him of that highway, the way Sasha had just _ripped_ a steering wheel right out of the car… _God_.

However, the way Sasha carried it was something completely different. It looked to be extremely heavy, yet he moved fluidly, easily. That arm was used as both a weapon and extension of Sasha. Steve had noticed that he never touched his hair with his left hand, only his right, but he would reach with his left hand for things that surprised him. Then there was so much dexterity to the appendage that when Sasha had it covered by clothing, no one could actually tell it was artificial.

Now… Now Steve had a chance to _look_. The metal arm was on display, resting on top of the sheets, the way Steve’s own was. Steve scooted a bit closer, almost plastering his chest to Sasha’s back, to take a better look. Immediately, Sasha shifted, surfacing from the deeper sleep into something more shallow, more alert.

Steve froze.

“It’s me, Steve. Go back to sleep, Sasha,” Steve urged quietly, keeping his body loose and relaxed. Soon he was rewarded with the sound of Sasha’s breath deepening and evening out as he fell into a deeper sleep again.

After a few moments, Steve was sure that Sasha wasn’t going to wake up suddenly and returned his attention to the arm. It gleamed softly, the metal so smooth it reflected the limited light filtering through the windows. Sasha probably hated that fact with a passion, considering how much he loved being stealthy. Natasha had speculated that the metal was Adamantium by the way it deflected bullets and how hard it was to damage. Now that he was so close, Steve could see the plates were actually made from smaller components. His enhanced vision picked out the barely-there lines indicating smaller elements making up the larger moving plates.

Carefully, Steve reached out his hand to ghost his fingers over the smooth metal, wanting to know better what it felt like. Would it be hot or cold? His fingertips were just above the largest, shoulder plate a hairsbreadth from touching it when the plates _shivered_. The thin lines between the smaller components became larger, wider and Steve fought the irrational urge to jerk himself away with the sudden conviction he had somehow _broken_ the thing.

Sasha moved in his sleep, shifting his face against the pillow and making himself comfortable again, before snuffling and falling once more into stillness. Steve stared, half-horrified, half-fascinated as the little lines became grooves, forming a small network. Then, with a quiet clack, the larger plates separated into tiny ones, like dragonscale. Both surprised and mesmerised, Steve stared as the change flowed down the shoulder, over the biceps, the elbow, all the way to the very fingertips which were curled into the bedding. The arm had never looked more natural, more alive than in that moment.

Unable to help himself, Steve brought his hand back to the metal and, holding his breath, touched it. The metal was blood-warm and strangely flexible, giving way delicately under the pressure, not much, but enough to eerily simulate skin. With every minute that passed without Sasha reacting in a negative way, Steve became bolder, first using his fingertips, then the whole palm to touch the strangely giving, smooth metal. He slid his hand over the luscious curve of Sasha’s arm and sighed.

Sasha’s body was so beautiful, all strong muscles, sharply defined against the taut skin and so surprisingly soft now. Pliant; easy. He was pressed completely against Sasha, his hand closed lightly over a metal wrist. 

“Steve,” Sasha rumbled without opening his eyes.

“Sleep,” Steve murmured, pressing his face to the back of Sasha’s neck feeling oddly affected by the way Sasha smelled of his soap, his shampoo, his shaving cream. It was as if Steve had put a tangible mark on the man. Pressing his lips to the bared neck, nosing the hair aside, Steve enjoyed the way Sasha just _let_ him.

“Mmm, hard to do with your cock poking me in the butt for the last however long…” Sasha said slowly, mumbling his words together. Likely, the low-grade fever was making him less aware than he would be otherwise.

Steve froze momentarily, for the first time becoming aware that, yes, he was hard and yes, he was unknowingly pressing his hips against Sasha’s ass in slow, undulating movements. Now he flushed, embarrassed and alarmed that he had been taking advantage of Sasha’s vulnerability without noticing.

“Sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly, “Didn’t even notice. Just,” he ran his fingers down Sasha’s arm slowly. “You are ridiculously attractive, you know that?”

“Y’can fuck me if you want,” Sasha murmured, eyes still closed and face in the pillow.

Steve stared at the back of Sasha’s neck, flummoxed and suddenly unbearably aroused. For the briefest moment, he wondered what it would be like if he just rolled Sasha onto his belly and sank into him. Imagined how it would feel to have that tight body stretched over his cock, to feel Sasha’s pulse from the _inside_ , before sanity returned.

Deliberately, Steve moved his hand to Sasha’s belly, feeling the firmness, the warmth of it.

“You are in no condition to make offers like that,” Steve chided hoarsely, half his mind still fantasizing of doing just that, of arranging this warm, loose body in his arms and entering it.

”...so long as I don’t have to do anything,” Sasha murmured after a while, his breath already starting to even out, his body obviously wanting to return to sleep.

Steve shifted his hips forward again, just enjoying the gentle friction against his already painfully sensitive dick.

“I thought you didn’t do this,” Steve asked. It was maybe a bit low, using Sasha’s half-asleep state to get more personal information out of him.

Sasha was quiet for a moment, probably more asleep than awake already. With another sigh, Steve thought that would be it, just a halfhearted, teasing offer. Maybe said only because of the fever and the half-waking state Sasha was in.

Then Sasha said, face still mostly buried in his pillow, “You’re not like them. S’okay, do it if you want.”

It occurred to Steve then, that Sasha was completely serious. He not only knew what he was offering, but meant every word. It was humbling, not to mention completely arousing.

“Sasha?” Steve asked, not even knowing what for, as he pressed his palm against Sasha’s belly. His fingers slipped just under the waistband of Sasha’s sleep pants, making him sigh. With a deep breath, he obviously roused himself. The metal hand shifted, gripped Steve’s where it was hovering, and shoved it down over his own, apparently interested cock.

“As I said,” Sasha growled, much more awake now, “it’s really hard to sleep with you trying to drill me through our clothes-”

“ _Sasha_ ,” Steve groaned.

“-so I thought I would offer an easier way.”

Steve bit the back of Sasha’s neck in punishment and in an attempt at trying to take his mind off his stupidly interested cock.

“You are not _up_ for it,” he argued.

Sasha made the most undignified sound and pressed Steve’s hand harder against his own cock.

“Oh, but I think I am,” Sasha declared, sounding unreasonably cheerful for still being more asleep than awake.

Steve groaned again. “You’re incorrigible.”

“If that means horny, then yes, I am that as well. This is your fault, Rogers, so _do_ something about it.”

Giving in a little, Steve wrapped his hand around Sasha’s cock. From this angle it should have felt natural, easy, as if he was doing it to himself.

It felt _nothing_ like that. Sasha’s cock was large in his hand, somehow alien even though Steve had already had it in his mouth and his ass. Honestly, it was somewhat intimidating.

Making his grip firm, Steve gave a few long pulls just to see how it felt, how Sasha reacted.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Sasha swore, arching against Steve’s chest.

That action combined with the way Sasha’s cock felt in Steve’s hand was a heady rush of power. Steve changed his grip, started jerking Sasha harder, grinding his own cock against Sasha’s spectacular ass.

“Fuck, I keep thinking about it,” Sasha rasped, “About your cock. About how it would feel inside me.” Sasha’s voice was low, ragged. “How much it would stretch me. Shit, I look at you and think about all the ways you could _own_ me, manhandle me, just put me on my knees and get inside.”

“Jesus,” Steve swore.

Feeling Sasha tug and jerk at his own pants, he got with the program. Letting go of Sasha’s cock to pull both their pants off, he slotted himself against Sasha’s bare ass. His cock was slippery with precome already, slotting neatly between the firm cheeks. The friction made Steve groan, and he grabbed at Sasha’s cock a bit too hard.

Sasha jerked against him and swore loudly.

“Do you think about it too, Steve?” Sasha asked, panting, as Steve did his best to stroke his cock. “About how I would feel around you? Because I fucking do, _god_ , I do. You’re enhanced, probably more than me… Your refractory period is probably even faster than mine, and mine is hella fast. Can you imagine how long you could fuck me? Just fuck and fuck, until I was all loose and sloppy? How many times would you come inside me, Steve? How many ‘till you were satisfied?”

Sasha was breathing hard, his words becoming disjointed and breathless.

“How many times, do you think? Two? Three? I bet you would come inside me and then just keep fucking me, fucking your own come inside me until you came again and, _oh fuck_ , again, and all I could do would be to fucking take it. Take it and maybe even _beg_.”

Steve came first, embarrassingly quickly, splattering Sasha’s ass and back with his come. Which only made things better, made his breath shudder right out of his chest.

“Sasha, yes, Sashka, _please_ …”

Sasha jerked against him again, his whole body going first taut, then quite loose as he filled Steve’s hand with semen. Pressing his face against Sasha’s sweaty neck, Steve inhaled the scent of sex, sweat, and metal that made up the man himself.

“Where did you learn to call me Sashka?” Sasha murmured, his breathing rapidly decreasing.

“Natasha,” Steve answered, still nuzzling at Sasha’s neck.

“Jesus, if you keep bringing that woman into our bed, I’ll start thinking you _want_ her here with us.”

“You are the most jealous person I think I’ve ever met,” Steve chuckled. “You showed up at the museum because of Tony, didn’t you?”

Sasha hummed, but his body was already relaxing in Steve’s embrace, slipping easily back towards sleep.

“Gotta protect what’s mine,” Sasha murmured.

“What you did is not what I’d define as _protecting_ ,” Steve huffed.

“You loved it, now hush,” Sasha demanded. “Sleep.”

“Do you mind that I called you Sashka?” Steve pressed.

Sasha sighed.

“That is not sleeping.”

“Answer and I’ll let you sleep,” Steve promised, pressing a kiss behind Sasha’s ear, enjoying the closeness and the fact that he allowed it at all; they’d not done much cuddling outside of Steve being fucked into that weird sub-drop.

For a moment he didn’t answer, but then Sasha said simply, “No.”

Steve didn’t imagine he would get a better answer. Then again, he didn’t need one.

“Goodnight, Sashka,” Steve murmured into Sasha’s neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a mandatory break point.
> 
>  
> 
> If you have been reading this non stop, please get up, go for a walk, or go to sleep. We'll still be here later.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 12

When Sasha woke again, the house was completely silent and he was alone. Where Steve had slept was still mussed, but the bed itself was cold. Though his body screamed in protest, Sasha forced himself to sit up. He made himself swing his legs over the side of the bed, then stood slowly. The weakness was still worrisome, but the silence was worse. Being…alone was worse.

Slowly, silently, Sasha slipped down the first flight of stairs. From the landing looking into what was clearly the spare bedroom, he saw Sai’s mop of blond hair poking up from beneath the fluffy covers, along with a single bare foot. This unassailable evidence that Sai felt safe enough here to _sleep_ gave Sasha pause. He was too tired, however, to think of all the implications. That would have to wait until later.

Descending the stairs, Sasha found the office empty, but a light was now visible from the kitchen. Slowing, in case it wasn’t Steve, he crept down the stairs, but really shouldn’t have bothered putting the extra strain on his legs. Illuminated by the overhead lights above the stove, Steve was the only person on the first floor.

Sasha was fairly certain he didn’t make a sound, but Steve turned anyway as he took the last stair. Instead of looking surprised or angry that Sasha was out of bed against orders, his face just broke into that fondly exasperated expression Sasha was starting to get used to.

Coming around the island, Steve pulled out one of the chairs tucked against the bar and offered his hand to help Sasha to sit.

“Why are you awake?” Sasha asked, too tired to not voice his curiosity.

“I slept for seventy years,” Steve answered, “Think I’ve had enough.”

“That’s bullshit,” Sasha throws back, “and you know it.”

Moving back around the counter, Steve smiled at him, not minding the blunt accusation at all.

“Can’t sleep more often than not,” Steve admitted and this time Sasha believed him. “Started during the war. I don’t try to fight it, just go do something else.”

Sasha only grunted, staying quiet for a while and watching as Steve put the kettle on, pulled an old fashioned, or expensive, tin of tea out of the cupboard and shook some of the dry leaves into an old fashioned-looking utilitarian tea pot.

“What are you making?” Sasha asked, curious about the almost meditative ease of Steve’s movements.

“It’s an herbal mix a friend gave to me. Doesn’t really affect my body, but I love the smell of it. Tastes all right, too.” He was quiet a moment before adding, as though making up for his earlier half-truth, “Reminds me of better-” he paused, decided instead on, “Old times.”

“When?” Sasha asked, a little captivated by the honesty now that he had it.

“Before the War,” Steve answered. “Lived in this little apartment, ‘bout the size of this floor, and I’d get sick all the damned time. This smells like what I used to take then, to help me breathe, or keep me warm, whatever the current ailment required.”

“I can’t imagine you sick,” Sasha confessed.

Steve chuckled.

“I’m a science experiment. Used to be pretty small, shorter than Natasha. The serum, well, fixed me.”

“I doubt you were broken,” Sasha protested, oddly disliking Steve’s comment.

Steve only shrugged, took the now-heated water, and using a small tin strainer, poured the infusion into the two mugs. When finished, he put one in front of Sasha and curled his long fingers about the other.

“Try it,” he instructed.

Steve didn’t try to drink the hot liquid immediately, simply moved to sit on the couch facing the window, tucking one leg underneath himself and resting the mug on his thigh. Sasha didn’t follow, just watched. Steve looked very calm, easy, just looking out at the dark street with its golden-orange glow of streetlamps and the occasional passing car. Watching him now, Sasha both envied the ability to simply sit there watching the outside world without seeing the dirty underbelly of it every second of every day.

As envious he was of it, Sasha was also protective. There was an urge to ask more questions about Steve’s past, about the man in the pictures named Bucky with his face, but he refrained. He didn’t want anybody to disturb this fragile peace, not even himself. Most people considered him cold, but Sasha did have a certain sense of empathy. Steve was so calm now, so relaxed, and his guard down. Calm such as Steve had never been his style; his mind was a puzzle of constantly shifting plans and tactics. He could never truly relax; there were too many enemies on his tail. Sasha could press for answers, would probably get more than in any other situation, but he would shatter this moment.

Sasha watched Steve raise the steaming mug of tea to his face, inhaling the scented mist with a calm expression and a faint hint of pleasure in the gentle upturn of his lips. Though his eyes were closed, he wasn’t as lost in the moment as he appeared.

“You haven't tried it,” Steve said, glancing his way. The sparkle was back in those now-open eyes and Sasha realized he was happy with him sharing this moment. A moment without sex, just quiet and darkness, and tea.

Easing himself to his feet, Sasha carefully carried the mug to the couch and sat, turning himself so his back was against the armrest so he could face Steve, not the street outside. There was no peace out there for him, but he thought maybe he could learn to find some from the man sitting with him.

Steve took a sip from his mug and gave him a look, so Sasha looked down at the drink cradled in his hands and inhaled. Closing his eyes, he could hear someone coughing, hard and painful. A voice, he thought might be his own, saying, “ _Drink the damn cup, or I’ll pour it down your throat._ ”

When he looked up, Steve was watching him, smiling still. Then he looked back at the street, sipped again and somehow relaxed even more. Better times, he’d almost said. Sasha wanted to ask, more than before, about the tea and what it meant to Steve, but he didn’t. He held his silence. Whatever was in the past did not matter as much as this moment, in the silence, in the dark, with a man he knows and can’t remember.

\----

When Steve had said that he’d told people Sasha was staying with him, Sasha hadn’t expected one of those people to be Tony Stark. He should have known after overhearing the phone conversation when Steve had made it clear the guy would just drop by if he didn’t pick up. It was still disquieting to hear someone opening the door to Steve’s bedroom, the one that led to the roof terrace, and upon investigation, find Iron Man stepping out of his armor.

In Steve’s _bedroom_ , like he belonged there.

For his part, Tony Stark did not look at all surprised to see Sasha, or the semi-automatic Sasha didn’t even try to hide.

“Didn’t think you’d be up and around yet,” Stark said in that too-chipper voice he had, “Cap made it sound like you were at death’s door. Tony, by the way.”

Sasha didn’t want to take the outstretched hand, but he had a bad feeling of how Steve would react to Sasha being rude to his friends. Stark might have looked harmless and friendly outside the suit, however he was anything _but_. Sasha did a lot of really dangerous shit when the situation called for it, but getting so close to fucking Iron Man was just asking for trouble.

“Sasha Marozov.”

Humming speculatively, Stark headed for the stairs.

“Mostly here to drop off some equipment our boy requested.” Sasha had to grit his teeth because Steve was _Sasha’s_ , “Is he about?”

The casual way Stark stalked through Steve’s room was setting Sasha’s teeth on edge.

“No, he stepped out,” Sasha answered, following down the stairs and motioning for Sai to stay put when they tromped through the office. “If you leave it, I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“Nah,” Stark shook his head, “I’d rather give it to him personally. How long do you think?”

“No more than a half hour,” Sasha guessed, “He said he was just going to the grocery store.”

In the kitchen, Stark went straight to Steve’s fridge and helped himself without any hesitation. Sasha’s trigger fingers _itched_. He wondered how angry Steve would get if he shot Stark. Somewhere nonlethal, but singularly painful.

“That should be more than enough time.”

Sasha slowed, eyeing Stark suspiciously now. Without the suit and while pouring a glass of milk, he didn’t seem that threatening. His statement, however, was more than a little ominous. Why did Stark want time with Steve _not_ home?

“For?”

Looking up at him, Stark sipped from the glass before setting it down again.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” he said and pain coalesced at the top of Sasha’s spine. The voices of dozens of people were saying that name, _his_ name, all mashed up together in a single, dull roar. 

Except it wasn’t _his_. He didn’t know that person, didn’t remember being him.

Sasha rubbed his head, the dull throbbing making it hard to focus.

“You’re him. I checked, and checked, and then checked again for good measure. You match him _exactly_ , all the little things they couldn’t have changed about you.”

Sasha made a low growling sound, wanting Stark to stop. The pain was intensifying. He rubbed both of his eyes hard enough that white spots started dancing beneath his eyelids.

“The distance between your eyes, width of your cheekbones, shape of your chin, width of your forehead; your nose is a bit different now, but with the life you lead, I expect it got broken more than once. You’re taller now, too, but that could be explained by the body modifications done to your skeleton.”

“Stark,” Sasha warned, feeling a wave of nausea coming on. Stark didn’t listen.

“I got hold of some of the classified recordings of the Howling Commandos and made a comparison analysis of the way you move. When taken into account the level of those modifications you were subjected to, your movement patterns are a match. Not to mention your voice patterns, and believe me getting a sample of your voice was a pain in the ass, you paranoid sonofabitch.

“Basically, I have proof, beyond any doubt, that you are James Buchanan Barnes. Hell, I could write a whole dissertation on it.”

Going still, Sasha growled, “Stop.”

“Oh, all right,” Stark shrugged too casually, “So I should call you _Bucky_.”

The pain became worse, making him dizzy, weak. That voice he thought might have been his own was saying, _”James is a dead President. You can call me Bucky.”_ He had thought he wanted to know, but he was not ready for this. Not ready to acknowledge he had been someone before Hydra, someone they had broken and remade into what was basically an automaton, the Asset.

Stark looked about to speak again and Sasha lost it, the roaring in his ears reaching a crescendo. Making an animal-like sound, loud and incoherent, he reached out with his metal arm, grabbed Steve’s glass and steel table, and flung it against the kitchen island as hard as he could. It shattered, but Stark didn’t even flinch. He just sipped from his glass, watching Sasha with the most intense, intelligent black eyes he had ever encountered.

“So you know,” Stark said, calmly, as if a table hadn’t just been thrown his way, “I wondered, what with all the shit they did to your head.”

“You know about that?” Sasha demanded, turning so his left arm faced Stark. If the man was Hydra, if he had come to bring Sasha in, he would die whether or not he was Steve’s friend.

“I read the file Hydra had on you,” Stark answered, “All of it. The experiments, the torture, the programming, how many times they nearly killed you, how many times they _actually_ did kill you, before you broke. Steve brought me the drive while he was looking for you. I watched all of it.”

Sasha flinched, but Stark apparently did have some compassion.

“No, he didn’t see it,” Stark assured. “Gave him the option, he didn’t take it. I would have, but he’s better than us. Let your kid destroy the thing and no, I didn’t make any copies. Anyone else gave it to me I would have, but you’ve managed to shack up with the one guy we make all the exceptions for.”

Stark paused, watching Sasha try to get his bearings.

“Anyway, he doesn’t know, does he? Who you are?”

Swallowing hard, Sasha shook his head.

“Didn’t think so,” Stark nodded to himself. “He had that whole righteous fury thing going on, but it wasn’t quite _intense_ enough for him to know _you_ were, well, you.”

“Please don’t tell him. I’m not-”

“Uh-huh,” Stark interrupted, apparently not caring what Sasha had to say. “So here’s the deal, Vanilla Sky, you killed my parents. I’m never going to like you, but knowing what was done to you,” the indifferent mask cracked for a moment and Stark looked away from him, “and knowing Steve is Noah Calhoun in this little romance, I won’t give up your little secret - for now. You get a week to break it to him yourself, or I _will_ because _he_ is my friend. You,” Tony’s eyes are hard again, “You just get a pass.”

With the anger he could see in Stark’s eyes, and knowing what he would do to anyone who hurt either Sai or Steve, Sasha thought that was generous.

“I don’t remember killing your parents,” Sasha said quietly. It was the the most awful sensation, staring in the face somebody affected by what he had done as the Fist of Hydra, being in the presence of the consequences of his actions. “I’m sorry.”

Stark made a strange sound Sasha couldn’t interpret at all.

“I was aware the chances you would were slim to none.”

A strange kind of silence reigned between them then as Sasha watched Stark’s face and tried desperately to _remember_.

“Thank you,” Sasha said, feeling off-guard and lost, confused by this strange man before him.

“I’m not doing it for you,” Stark clarified. “I will tolerate you, likely for the same reason you’re going to tolerate me. And here he comes now.”

Smiling suddenly, Stark jogged around the island to the door. Before Steve could put the key in the lock, he was opening the door and holding it that way.

“Steve!” Stark declared exuberantly. “Let me take these.”

“Uh, hi Tony,” Steve said, looking a little befuddled, but smiling anyway. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Neither was Sasha,” Stark replied, taking the groceries from Steve and into the kitchen. “We may have broken your table.”

Stepping through the front door, Steve took in his smashed dining table and frowned at how mangled it was.

“I can see that.”

When Steve looked to Sasha, the raised eyebrow said he knew that wasn’t what happened, but he wouldn’t push them. He trusted them to work out their own shit, not to need him to referee.

“Sorry,” Sasha muttered.

“Got the thing you asked for,” Stark called from the kitchen, stealing Steve’s attention.

“Yeah?”

Steve ignored the shattered table remains and joined Stark in the kitchen. They moved easily about one another, putting away Steve’s groceries. It lasted maybe five minutes, but Sasha wanted to shoot Stark by the end of it, again. He just wouldn’t stop _touching_ Steve, and Steve seemed completely oblivious to the hand on his hip, or shoulder, or brushing against his back.

When Steve turned his back to put away the last box of cereal, Stark looked right in Sasha’s eyes and winked. The fucking asshole was doing it on _purpose_.

“All right, Dorito, I gotta run,” Stark quipped. “Here’s the tech you requested.” He pulled a small box from his jacket, black and flat, maybe a few inches wide. Without hesitation, he stuffed it into Steve’s front pocket and Sasha couldn’t contain his growl of fury. Steve stiffened, twisting his head to watch Sasha warily, but Stark couldn’t care less.

“I’ll let the spies know our hermit is doing just fine,” he declared as he walked out of the kitchen and past Sasha. “Don’t forget our deal, Bourne Identity. Cap, I’ll swing by again in a couple days.”

“Think I may come see you, first,” Steve said carefully. Sasha could feel his eyes on him, but he couldn’t do anything but make sure Stark was actually leaving.

When Stark was gone, Sasha looked back and Steve was frowning at him. The way his brows scrunched together in his I-am-disappointed face was almost too cute, but Sasha couldn’t really appreciate it properly. His heart was still hammering doubletime, and he was reeling from the information Stark had dumped on him.

Still, there were things he needed to clear up.

“Were you sleeping together?” Sasha asked, watching Steve carefully for any sign of deceit.

“What?” Steve asked, bewildered and caught off-guard by the topic.

“You and Stark. Did you have sex?” Sasha clarified, knowing how oblivious Steve was at times.

Steve’s eyes widened and then he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Why would… Because he put his hand in my pocket?“ he sighed again, “No, I did not have sex with _Tony_! I told you, we’re friends and I haven’t been with any man other than _you_.”

Sasha narrowed his eyes, seeing again the way Stark touched Steve, how comfortable he had been in the man’s personal space, and how _easy_ Steve was with it.

“Not even a handjob?” Sasha pressed, unconvinced.

Steve slammed his palms on the counter.

“For god’s sake, _no_! How many times do I have to repeat -”

“Blowjobs after missions?”

“ _NO_! There is nothing going on between me and Tony. Not now, not before, not _ever_.”

“Are you absolutely sure?” Sasha pressed even more, coming closer to Steve and encroaching on his personal space, trying to intimidate the answer out of him.

“Yes, Sasha, I am _sure_ I did not _forget_ sleeping with Tony,” Steve snapped, irritated, but still assuring him. “What is it with you today, I swear you -”

Steve was leaning into Sasha, hands fisted, face red and fuming, unwilling to give ground like everyone else when Sasha tried to intimidate them.

“If you two are going to fuck in the kitchen, can you wait until after I’ve had my dinner please?” Sai’s voice floated from behind them, long-suffering and faintly disgusted. “I’m really hungry and that spaghetti is half-done already so if you would just wait ten minutes I could get the food, go to my room, put some headphones on and play some music loudly,” he offered blandly, seemingly resigned to his fate.

Steve went through a whole rainbow of colors, starting with red, then white, then somewhat green and back to red, looking as horrified as if he had just murdered somebody’s kitten in cold blood.

“Sai,” Sasha growled out his displeasure at being interrupted. The boy didn’t bother acknowledging him still staring morosely at the pot on the stove.

“There will be no…” Steve choked on the next word and backpedalled quickly. “We are going to have dinner. Like civilised people. The kitchen is for eating, so we will eat. There is nothing untoward happening here!”

Sai looked dubiously at Steve, then at Sasha.

“He actually believes that,” Sai said to Sasha after a moment, sounding stunned.

“He really does,” Sasha agreed morosely, seeing a pleasant evening of releasing stress slipping away from him in favor of fucking spaghetti.

“Of course I believe that,” Steve sounded outraged. “Get down here, fix the spaghetti and Sasha will help me clean up the mess he made.”

\----

Sasha dreamed of battlefields.

That in itself wasn't strange; he had seen so many battlefields. These dreams were different, though because he has two flesh hands, and that wasn't anything he actually remembered. He held a rifle, what they would call vintage these days. Sometimes he was in ditches, sometimes on outcroppings of rock, a few times in trees. Always, he had the rifle. Always, he knew how to make the perfect shot, the _impossible_ shot, the one they needed to turn the tide.

He dreamed of fear and terror, the kind of terror that was burned out of him a long time ago. He dreamed fearing death and it was such a strange thing to fear. For a long time, he thought that death was something sweet, something like a _reward_. It almost jarred him out the dream, the dichotomy between the waking world and this unreality.

Throughout it all there was a shadow, an unseen presence hovering just behind his perception. There was someone who he was protecting, someone safe at home who would be waiting when he got back. Maybe he wouldn’t actually make it back, but that someone would still be there. Still be safe. He would gladly die so long as that one thing remained true.

The men, his and not his, took comfort from this - not serenity, it wasn’t that, confidence maybe. They watched his back and he, in turn, took care of them. Extra cigarettes from his own rations, nicking bottles of alcohol - always the good stuff - and blankets to keep them warm. He’d always been good at taking care of people, only now he was good at killing them, too.

At first the battles were long drawn-out slogs, mud and blood and death all around him. Though he was terrified, the feeling was easy to hold at bay in those filthy battlefields. When the mud and blood and death faded - well, the death never faded away, neither did the blood - the terror was stronger. Fierce pounding fear that death was looming on the next mission, or the next. Not _his_ death, no that wasn’t a concern. Someone else’s. With Captain America now a constant of the battlefield instead of the mud, he knew who he was afraid _for._

_This plan is crazy; you’re crazy._

_I’m fine. Worry about yourself._

_How the hell do you come up with this stuff?_

Always blood, always death, always his eye pressed to a scope and the fear, fear, fear that death was coming. Death would find them and he wasn’t ready. He would never be _ready_. His heart had chosen a man looking for a sword, not a knight, and it was impossible to protect a warrior from himself.

_Me first. If you have to take someone, take me first._

Sasha woke with a scream strangling in his throat. Out of long habit he choked it down, cut it off, denied it life. Normally that was for Sai, so the boy didn’t wake and come running, but now he was grateful because Steve slept at his side. Tonight, the insomnia hadn’t driven him from their bed, and he was loathe to disturb that serenity. Though Steve would never complain, he had not caught up with his sleep from when he and Sai had been searching for him. Bags that never should have been seen on either of their faces ringed Steve’s eyes. Better to let him sleep, even if Sasha knew he would get no more for himself.

Sliding out of bed, Sasha slipped from the room. The dream had left him so disoriented he didn’t even see Sai until he was on top of him, between one staircase and the next, blocking his way. It startled Sasha badly, but not so much as if the kid had come up from his blind spot, but Sai knew that well. Sasha had noticed he did the same for Steve, never at his back, always within sight, but hadn’t thought to ask why. It didn't seem likely they’d have the same reasons.

“You should be resting,” Sai said, but without the conviction that said he would force Sasha back upstairs.

“I’ve been resting,” Sasha said flatly, “No more tonight.”

Sai eyed him, but stepped aside so Sasha could pass. Then he followed down to the office where Sasha had planned to chose a book and read. Instead, he realized Sai was going to want to talk.

“Get to it,” Sasha sighed.

“Why are we still here?” Sai asked immediately.

The question caught Sasha off guard. Turning to the boy, he gave him a long look and frowned. He was wary, tense, like this answer was more important than he wanted to let on. The answer wasn’t in any way simple, but if anyone deserved the truth, it was Sai. Besides, who else did Sasha have to talk to about what was happening to him? He certainly couldn’t talk to Steve. Stark wasn’t even an option.

“I have been...remembering. When I’m with him, when he talks to me, tells me about himself it’s all so...familiar. I’m not ready to leave, to loose...whatever connection this is to my past.”

“I see you’re no longer going with the clone theory,” Sasha commented dryly.

Agitated, Sasha tugged at his hair before claiming the desk chair. Following, Sai perched on the edge of the desk, looking down at him speculatively.

“They’re...memories. My memories. Tonight I dreamed...I think they were more. Memories. He’s there,” Sasha looked up to where Steve was sleeping, “I think, maybe. I don’t know.”

Sai’s eyes widened at the very rare uncertainty.

“You don’t know? Either he’s there, or he isn’t.”

“He is,” Sasha knew he sounded frustrated, “but not always. Like… A shadow you see out of the corner of your eye. I _think_ it’s him, but I don’t know for sure. I _think_ it’s my-” he stumbled, unable to admit that he knew a name other than Sasha Morozov, “ _me_ , but it’s like chasing a ghost. Was it just a dream? Was it my voice? Was _he_ coughing, or someone else? Did I watch too many YouTube videos, or was I there with Captain America in World War II? Is it me, or is it not _me_?!”

They both winced as Sasha’s voice abruptly rose, glancing upstairs. The house was silent around them, settled, no other sounds crept down the stairwell. Steve slept on.

“It seems to me,” Sai finally broke the silence, “that you’re so agitated, maybe even scared, because you _know_ it’s you.”

“Oh? And what makes you so wise?” Sasha demanded sarcastically, his heart was pounding with the truth of the statement.

Sai smiled at him.

“Did you ever wonder why you saved me? Why you railed against all that programming, for _me_? Just a scrawny kid, no different from any other?”

Scowling, Sasha nodded once to admit he had. It didn’t seem like that important, though, or related to this at all.

“Sasha,” Sai said gently, “I did my research. I showed you how he looked before the serum.” Sai’s eyes were serious but kind, patient in the way that Sasha had a feeling normal kids his age just weren’t. Considering how much shit Sai lived through by the age of eleven, Sasha doubted the teenager was in any way a normal kid. “I could be his little brother, or, hell, his _kid_. You saved me, because I _look_ like him. I reminded you of him, and you couldn’t let them hurt _him_.”

Sasha licked his lips.

“Sai-”

“Hey, don’t get me wrong,” Sai said quickly, “I’m really grateful and- and more than grateful. You didn’t just save me, you gave me a life and a purpose and- We’re family.” He was speaking so fast now, trying to get the words out before either one of them stopped him. “And you mean the world to me, but you did it for him.”

Sai sucked in a breath.

“So, if you wanna stay, I’m okay with that. You’ve done so much for me and it’s past time we did something for you. Steve’s...You knew him. Before. And if being near him helps you remember, good. Besides,” he looked away, “he’s a pretty okay guy.”

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Sasha wondered if being near Steve was also making him emotional.

“Yeah? I am...fond of him.”

Sai rolled his eyes. Had he picked that up from Steve, too?

“Duh. So, you wanna tell me what you’re remembering? Maybe I can do some research, find out more for you if you give me some clues.”

For a moment, Sasha hesitated. He wanted to keep his memories to himself. They were precious, imperfect, incomplete, and he feared losing them again. Yet, this was _Sai_. If he was going to trust anyone, it would be ‘his kid’, as Steve put it.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 13

It took Steve a few days to see Tony like he had said he would. To say Sasha wasn’t happy with him when he left was an understatement. It was why he had put off the trip, wanting to enjoy the time he’d been spending with Sasha, and even Sai. He imagined that when he got home, he was going to be in for it, but he wasn't willing to lie either.

At Stark Tower, JARVIS directed him to the elevator and up to the penthouse. That was a surprise as Steve usually found Tony in his research labs.

Tony was sitting in one of the couches facing an incredible panoramic view of New York from that height. In his hand there was an empty tumbler made from heavy crystal, the casual display of luxury Steve still found so disconcerting. In front of him there were hovering dozens of floating holographic specs of some kind of device. From his vantage point Steve could see something that looked almost like nightmarish dentist chair. There were Hydra insignias everywhere so Steve guessed Tony was still doing research.

“Hey Tony,” he called after a moment when the billionaire didn’t stop his intense study of the holographs.

“Cap, hey, come in. Mi casa, es tu casa and all that.”

Tony made a graceful move with his hand, a kind of flick of the wrist, all showmanship and charm. Half the displays disappeared.

“So what’s up?” Tony asked turning his way. “How are the spy things? How’s the Red Menace doing?”

Steve came closer, taking a seat on the couch that was kitty-corner to Tony’s.

“I actually came here to talk to you about Sasha.”

Tony made a strange face at hearing Sasha’s name. Half a grimace, half a wince. Neither very Tony-like.

“Well,” Tony drawled after a moment, “I guess we’re all allowed that one inadvisable crush on a badass Russian spy. Besides, did you notice just how scary they make them now?”

“Is everything okay?” Steve asked, ignoring the deflection after seeing the way Tony was fidgeting with his empty glass. More than usual, he didn’t seem to be fully in the conversation, his eyes oddly distant.

Tony smiled, a wide, energetic, completely insincere smile. It was like he wasn’t even trying.

“Just fine, Romeo,” he lied.

“Uh huh,” Steve said skeptically. “That’s why you showed up unannounced and made Sasha break my table.”

“That was just a friendly visit! To get to know the Russian spy of your dreams.”

Steve scowled.

“Showing up unannounced like that- Tony he could have hurt you!” Steve insisted. All the different ways the meeting could have played out, all the ways Sasha could have reacted when startled by Iron Man, made him weak in the knees. “He doesn’t know he can trust you yet! It’s like trying to look under Natasha’s skirt; you might as well put a gun to your head and play Russian roulette! It’s why I told you he was there in the first place!”

“Aww, you do care,” Tony said flippantly, “I’m touched.”

“This is serious, Tony. What would-” Steve shut his eyes briefly. “I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if he hurt you.”

Tony frowned, looked at his glass and raised it to his lips as if wanting to drink the alcohol that wasn’t there. He grimaced and put the glass on the table.

“You wanna be serious, fine, let’s be serious. I had to see him. I had to meet the man that killed my parents. In cold blood, while they were helpless to protect themselves.”

Steve felt the ground slip and slide from beneath his feet. If he hadn’t already been sitting, he would have ended up that way.

“Howard?” he asked as if Tony had had another father. “I...They told me it was a car crash.”

“He made it look like one,” Tony said coldly, “but it wasn’t. No, Hydra sent their Fist to murder my parents. My _mom_.”

“Tony, I didn’t...I’m sorry…”

Movements sharp, Tony flicked his hand, calling up the data he had been looking at until the chair was floating in the air.

“He didn’t know, either,” Tony stated. “‘Cause of that. When they were done with him, they’d stick him in it and take everything. That’s how they got him to do it in the first place. It might have been a test... So… It wasn’t him, not really. Someone wanted me to know, though, that your boy toy killed my parents. Isn’t that interesting?”

“What?” Steve asked hoarsely, mind still spinning from the knowledge of what the chair was. Add to that the knowledge that Sasha had killed Howard left him too shattered to follow everything that Tony was saying.

“After I started digging for information on the Winter Soldier, I got a package delivered. I get hundreds of them every day, you know? There’s people for that, or ten of them, dealing with those. The only reason it was even delivered to _me_ was because of the charming picture of my father lying lifelessly beside his car inside the package. It was a screen taken from the tape inside. An honest to god tape Steve! A _VHS_ tape!” For some reason, Tony seemed horribly offended by that the most. Steve decided to ask Sai what a VHS tape was later. “The whole thing was taped. A security camera that wasn’t there when the police made the original investigation.”

Tony picked the empty glass again before grimacing and putting it down again.

“Why would they tape their own murders though? That is just _beyond_ stupid!”

“For this purpose,” Steve said quietly. His hands were laced together so tightly the fingers were white. “Tony… My god, whoever sent you this wanted to hurt you, wanted to drive a wedge between us.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Tony muttered, picking the glass _again_. “For god’s sake,” Tony snarled, getting up and going to the bar, pouring himself a full glass of something dark amber and downing half of it in one go. “I don’t think even I own enough booze for this conversation.”

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Steve repeated, feeling helpless and horrified.

There were no words for this situation. He couldn’t even imagine how Tony must be feeling now, how he must have felt when helping Steve find the man who had killed his family. Helping to _save_ that man. To keep S.H.I.E.L.D. from knowing what they were doing, where the Winter Soldier could be found. For Tony, it wouldn’t matter that it was Hydra that had forced Sasha to do it, all he would know was that tape, showing him who exactly was responsible for that ‘car accident’.

“I am so sorry.”

Tony slammed the half-full glass down so hard the liquid splashed on the black marble countertop.

“Stop apologizing!” Tony panted as if he had just run a marathon. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Sasha… He can’t apologize if he doesn’t remember.”

“And you can’t apologize for him,” Tony said flatly. “It’s not your sin, Steve. It’s not _his_ either and that’s…” Tony took a breath. “I can’t say it doesn’t matter, because it _does_ , but he’s important to you. Just don’t expect me to like him. And he did apologize, actually.”

“He did?”

Steve hated that he sounded surprised, but he was realistic enough to know Sasha wasn’t a good man. He had the potential to be, but wasn’t near there yet. Might never be.

Tony nodded.

“When I confronted him about it. Might not be as evil as S.H.I.E.L.D. wants us to think. Anyway,” he downed the rest of his alcohol, “It’s another notch in the S.H.I.E.L.D.-is-definitely-hiding-something category. Natasha find anything new from her contacts on that front?”

“Not yet; she’s digging. So is Clint.”

“You’re not, obviously,” Tony said sarcastically, “You’re about a subtle as a, well, as me.”

“That’s nearly exactly what Natasha said,” Steve said, trying to offer the humor he knew Tony preferred to hide behind. “What matters is you’re all looking. If Hydra is hiding in S.H.I.E.L.D., we’ll find them and we’ll burn them out.”

“Don’t you dare leave me out of it,” Tony demanded, turning sharply around. “Not any of it, Rogers. They killed my _parents_.”

Steve knew all too well what it was like to lose someone to Hydra.

“You can count on it, Tony,” he promised.

Dark eyes softened and Tony shoved his hands into his pockets, swinging towards the floating diagram of the chair.

“You also have to come out with us again,” Tony declared. “Movie night, my pick. You know, to make it up to me.”

Steve smirked, looking down at his hands.

“You’re a good friend, Tony.”

“Just remember that at Christmas,” he tossed back flippantly.

\----

Unsurprisingly, Sasha was waiting for him when Steve got home. Not just waiting, leaning against the wall near the door, glaring and looking all the world like he'd stood there for the two hours Steve had been gone.

“I'm five minutes late,” Steve protested, shutting and locking the door behind him. “There was _traffic_.”

Sasha ignored him, stepping forward to press his hand against Steve's chest. With a casual shove, he pushed Steve against the door, caging him there with his arms.

“Sasha,” Steve started to protest again, but he buried his nose in Steve's neck and inhaled. Smelling him, like he would be able to scent sex on Steve. Even as irritating as it was that Sasha still didn’t trust him about Tony, the very _possessive_ action made his knees weak. There was something seriously wrong with him.

Tilting his head back, baring his throat, Steve shivered when Sasha growled at the submission. His hands dropped from the door to Steve's waist, tightening painfully, and Steve couldn’t stop himself from whimpering. Not in pain, but because he was realizing Sasha wasn't going to believe words. If he wanted this unhealthy conviction that Steve was fucking Tony to end, he was going to have to prove it like he had when Sasha first showed up in his bedroom.

“Where's Sai?” Steve asked shakily as Sasha’s hands forced their way into his pants, rough fingers pressing against his hole to test if the muscle had been recently stretched.

“I sent him out,” Sasha said curtly. “He didn't fuck you, did you fuck him?”

“No, Sasha, _Sashka_ ,” Steve turned his face up to meet his gaze. “There's no one, no one but you. Let me prove it. Make me yours, any way you want, _whatever_ you want. Do it.” Steve tipped his head back again. “I want to be _only_ yours, but you don't believe that, so show me. Prove to _yourself_ why no other man will be good enough.”

Sasha licked his lips.

“Anything?”

Steve nodded, leaving his throat bare despite the pounding of his heart. There was no way to know what Sasha would do to him.

“ _Anything_. I won't stop you. I don't _want_ to stop you.”

With how hard Sasha had pressed himself to Steve’s front, he could feel the reaction to his offer, hard and hot pressed against his hip. Steel eyes went black, dark and dangerous, and Steve’s cock reacted like Sasha had given it a good squeeze. His hands closed convulsively in Sasha’s shirt, mouth suddenly dry. Whatever was about to happen, Steve wouldn't be granted mercy. It would be as much punishment as pleasure and that thought left him dizzy with desire.

Steve’s heart began pounding as though he was already in the middle of a heavy workout, or maybe already fucking. From one instant to the next, Sasha changed so much. It blew Steve's mind every time. He could go from a completely self-contained, composed, cold _assassin_ to a man projecting his will, his emotion so strongly it made Steve light-headed. His eyes, unremarkable grey, could change in an instant from flat and translucent to polished steel, or dark, midnight black. Steve had no idea how somebody in Sasha’s profession could have eyes as expressive as his, or a face so clearly made to express emotions. Steve spent more than a little time just staring, watching, cataloguing every little change, every wrinkle, every micro expression. It was an obsession.

Now, Sasha dialed down the jealousy and somehow channeled the emotion into that utter, tight control. It was stunning to watch, the transformation so seamless, so easy, it left Steve with shaking knees every time he witnessed it.

Abruptly Sasha stepped away and Steve was grateful for the door at his back as it was all that kept him on his feet. Whining with the loss of contact, Steve didn’t follow. He waited, head pressed hard against the wood, shivering as Sasha’s gaze swept over him.

Then Sasha backed up to the new table, the one Tony had had delivered just the other day, and stopped. Steve could do nothing but stare at the slow, lose way Sasha moved. There was no effort to hide how dangerous he was, how easily powerful his body was, as if he knew damned well how it turned Steve on to view the inherent danger inside him. That danger drew Steve strongly to Sasha. Knowing that he could manhandle him, could hold his own in a fight, in bed, only made Steve want him more. In the single video of the Winter Soldier Steve had seen, he glimpsed the utter lack of fear, shame, even empathy when the man fought. He didn't try to avoid obstacles in his path, he simply went _through_ them. He was the living, breathing embodiment that the shortest route between points A and B was a straight line. There was an edge of ruthlessness, of brutal efficiency, that excited Steve to unreasonable levels. And even though Sasha hadn’t done anything yet, Steve could already see that edge.

Steve loved Sasha’s voice, but it was his eyes that made him shiver. They were like polished steel, reflecting light and hiding whatever he thought and felt behind an impenetrable wall.

“Take off your clothes,” Sasha said slowly, his voice low and even.

Steve swallowed harshly, a protest on the tip of his tongue. It was the middle of the day, and they were in the damned living room, but the words never made it past his lips. His fingers were already reaching for the buttons of his shirt. When he had said he’d do anything Sasha wanted, Steve had known it was a dangerous offer. Sasha was a _dangerous_ man, and he knew it. He was completely unafraid of anything physical. Neither his, nor Steve’s body, was a secret to him. Nothing like Steve who still was afraid he would hurt somebody simply by being careless.

“You’re going to take off your clothes and bend over this table,” Sasha said in that calm, even tone.

It wasn’t even an order, wasn’t demanding at all. As it was, Sasha spoke so evenly, so calmly it was if what he was talking about was already a done deal, so obvious there was just no need to discuss it. No need to give an order, the way Steve would have in his best Drill Sergeant voice he’d practiced during the War. It did something to Steve, the casual, self-assured tone that insinuated it was obvious Steve would do what Sasha wanted. That it was set so deep in stone, Steve didn’t even _think_ to argue.

“You want to, don’t you, Stevie? You want it so bad you’ll do whatever I say, right? You’ll just take your clothes off, bend over this nice oak table and spread your fucking ass, showing me that greedy little hole of yours, won't you, Stevie?”

There was an edge of mocking challenge to his voice, making Steve blush, and his heart slam against his ribs. He had no idea why Sasha was challenging him, implying that he wouldn't, or couldn’t, do this, or why it affected him so much. It did, though. It made him comply _faster_ , all the more willingly at that. The blood in Steve’s body rushed in both directions, to his head and cock, the latter throbbing with arousal. Part of him couldn’t believe he let Sasha talk to him like that, let alone _enjoyed_ it. The rest of him was just happy to prove Sasha right, yanking his shirt over his head as he toed off his shoes. The request was certainly embarrassing, Steve was sure he wouldn’t stop blushing, but it wasn’t anywhere near difficult.

Kicking aside his pants and underwear, Steve swallowed, resisting the urge to avert his eyes, and walked to the table. Pushing aside the chairs, he slowly lowered himself over the edge, the cool wood causing goosebumps to spread over his skin as he pressed his naked chest to the lacquered surface. Sasha moved behind him and Steve shivered, spreading his legs. His cock was rock-hard between his legs, swinging free and already dripping without Sasha even having touched him once. It wasn’t enough, though, so he reached back to grip his cheeks, spreading them wide, exposing himself to Sasha’s gaze. It left him hot, a stark contrast to the cool table beneath him. Sense memory of doing this exact thing in the hotel room during their first time together, flooded him, making him even harder.

Sasha didn’t touch him, just stood so close that Steve could feel him behind him, hear him, _sense_ him, but there was no actual contact. It was as though Sasha was looking at him, watching as carefully as he had Steve stripping. The mere thought of those grey eyes focused on his hole and just looking made the flush spread lower, made Steve want to beg to hear Sasha’s voice, for Sasha to _do_ something.

“You are so easy, Steve,” Sasha said suddenly.

It made Steve jump and almost lose the grip on his own cheeks. He scrambled to fix it, taking hold harder, pulling the cheeks apart even more than before, enough that he felt the pull on his hole. He wondered how it must look, how wanton, how _slutty_. Was how hard he was spreading himself for Sasha making it gape, even a little?

“Your cock is so hard and I haven’t even touched you yet. It looks heavy from where I’m standing, and your balls are really tight. Are you this close to coming just from showing me your body? Just from _presenting_ to me?”

Steve exhaled a long, shuddering breath, grateful now that he was face down on the table. Grateful that he could press his heated cheek to the cool surface, the savage burn of shame lighting his body on fire. It wasn’t enough to make him stop. Steve found it hard to admit, but he enjoyed that burn.

“You’re so fired up, you’re dripping on the floor. I can see a pool of pre-come forming between your feet. You’re so _dirty_ , Steve. So fucking, _perfectly_ dirty.”

Steve could hear Sasha moving closer, but he felt nothing until the first swipe of Sasha’s tongue over his rim. The sudden burst of sensation drew a loud moan from his lips and he dug his nails into his skin to keep himself spread wide, open, and defenseless as Sasha’s tongue licked around his hole, over it, then dove inside. Steve moaned out again, pressing his forehead to the cool wood, shuddering as pleasure washed over him in waves. Every fiber of his being focused on Sasha’s tongue licking him open, leaving him dizzy and lose. Steve’s moans were filling the room, loud and greedy, and all Steve could think, besides how incredible Sasha’s mouth was, was that he _needed_ to be fucked. Soon.

As abruptly as it started, Sasha stopped. Steve whined, but didn’t vocalize a protest. Arching his back, he hoped Sasha would touch him again, maybe fuck him even though he wasn’t quite ready for that. All Steve earned was a chuckle, low and rumbling, somehow soothing and inflaming at the same time. Steve held still, gasping for breath, still spreading himself as an offering, and waited.

Either his breathing was too loud, or Sasha put effort into moving silently. The next thing Steve knew, a bottle of lube was being set in front of his face. When he looked up, Sasha was opening his pants and freeing his cock. His hands were sure and confident, as he opened the zipper, pushed the underwear down and pulled his cock out. It was dark and hard, so ready and as wet as Steve’s. In Sasha’s lose hold, it was as impressive as ever.

“Slick me up, Steve,” Sasha commanded, “but don’t get off the table.”

Hands shaking, Steve picked up the lube and squirted a generous amount into his hands. There was something thrilling about lying there, Sasha looking down at him, still completely dressed while Steve was utterly naked, spread out and defenseless. It made his breathing ragged, despite the fact that Sasha was no longer touching him. He felt so wrecked already and they had barely started.

When he wrapped his hands around Sasha’s cock, _Steve_ was the one who moaned, relishing the feel of that hot flesh in his hands. He eagerly stroked the shaft, licking his lips and staring. It was awkward, sure, stretching himself across the table like he was. His sweaty chest stuck to the smooth surface of the table, pulling when he moved. But being able to _touch_ , to finally feel some part of Sasha, was worth how silly he felt.

“Look at you,” Sasha purred, “So eager and greedy for my cock. You want me to fuck you so bad, don’t you, Stevie?”

Steve moaned, but Sasha pulled his hands away, walking back around the table to kick at Steve’s ankles, spreading his legs even wider, taking away whatever leverage he had, making him almost hang from the table. Gasping for air, Steve gripped the edge of the furniture tightly, shuddering as Sasha’s metal hand ran down his spine, drawing a line of cold fire until the thumb pressed against his hole. It seemed impossible that Sasha could have pushed him to this so fast, so _easily_ , like his body had been made for Sasha’s pleasure.

“So fucking greedy,” Sasha repeated, “You’ve got a filthy, insatiable little hole. You’d do anything to be filled, wouldn’t you? Anything to get a hard cock up inside you.”

Steve shuddered, but shook his head.

“No,” he protested and felt Sasha still, “ _Anything_ for _your_ cock.”

Like the words had set Sasha on fire, he pulled his hand away, muttered some kind of quiet curse in Russian, and replaced it with his cock. With one long, relentless push, he forced Steve to accept his cock, forced his body to just _give way_ even though Sasha hadn’t stretched him. A cry tore itself from Steve’s throat, need and satisfaction and pain all rolled into one. Arching again, he pushed back, but Sasha didn’t move. He stayed buried in Steve, hands running over his back. It was everything and nothing, all at once, and Steve didn't know how to deal with it. All he could do was shudder and clench around the intruding flesh inside him, so deep Steve thought he should feel it in this throat.

“You’re so tight now,” Sasha murmured, ruthless still, “as if you haven’t ever had my cock in there before, but we both know that’s a lie. Isn’t it, Steve? You had it and you loved it and you’ll do anything to keep it, won’t you?”

“Yes,” Steve sobbed, “Anything. Anything you want.”

Steve’s muscles kept clenching and unclenching spastically on the huge intrusion, shocked into disobedience. It hurt, yet felt incredible at the same time. The way Sasha was casually using his body, like it was his right, got to him in a new, exciting way. Steve loved being used like this.

“That’s right,” Sasha growled, slowly pulling out, dragging his cock along what felt like everything inside Steve, “Because you’re _mine_.”

“ _Yes!_ ” Steve shouted as Sasha took that moment to thrust back inside. It was no faster than the first time, slow and unavoidable, Sasha’s forcing his way so deep inside Steve. So _goddamned_ deep. Steve scrabbled at the table edge, hands slick with lube and unable to find purchase, whining like an animal at the relentless thrust in. His whole focus was on that cock pushing and pushing inside.

This time, when Sasha’s balls slapped against his ass, he didn’t rest inside. He pulled out, only to thrust in faster, his cock forcing Steve’s muscles to adjust, to mold to his hardness as he fucked Steve roughly. It was slow, but there was nothing _gentle_ about it. Sasha was marking him inside even as his hands left more visible marks, bruises, where they held onto Steve’s hips.

The burn of Sasha sliding inside him soon turned to pleasure, the aching stretch making Steve muzzy with want. He truly did love it, loved the stretch, the ache, the fullness of being fucked. Loved how intimate and awkward it felt to have somebody’s cock pressing into his ass. Adored how heavy that cock felt inside him, how _undeniable_ , alive and present. There was no way to deny this. No way to avoid focusing all of his senses, all of his _mind_ on that single point of entry where his body opened up easily for this purpose. Nothing else had come so effortlessly to Steve as being fucked by Sasha.

A rough, calloused hand wrapped about his cock, jerking in time with the rough thrusts. Steve’s low moans turned to low cries, gasping groans, and soft keening sobs as Sasha pushed him toward what he knew was an inevitable orgasm.

Then it stopped.

The hand on his cock squeezed harder, let go, then Sasha pulled out of Steve completely. The head caught on Steve’s already aching rim and pulled it sharply as Sasha’s cock popped out with an obscene sucking sound. It dragged an accompanying whining noise from Steve as he lay confused by the loss and so damned close to orgasm. Just a little more, just a tiny bit more, and he would come.

Sasha pressed close then, close to Steve but not _inside_ him. He was standing so near he had to rest his wet, hard cock on top of Steve’s ass. Just leave it there, slick and so fucking hard, heavy, simply laying on heated skin. It made Steve groan and whine, arch his back, lift his ass higher as though Steve could, maybe, fuck himself back onto it. If he just tried hard enough, wiggled just right. It was resting just inches above Steve’s hole, the hole now spasming frantically around _nothing_ , trying to find something, _anything_ , to close around.

“Sasha,” Steve whined, but the man just stood there, ignoring Steve’s efforts to twitch his hips up and back, desperately trying to get Sasha to put his cock in his ass again.

Firm legs were pressed against the back of Steve’s, hips tight against his ass, their balls resting together. A sob broke from Steve and Sasha did nothing but run his metal hand down’s Steve’s undulating back.

“Look at that hole of yours, kitten,” Sasha praised, “Jesus, it’s downright _pretty_.”

Steve sobbed again, shocked at the feeling in his chest at Sasha’s praise. It went tight and hot; Sasha always talked so much filth, but there was honest pleasure, honest _wonder_ in his words. It made Steve feel wanted, maybe even beautiful, in his own skin.

Slowly, Sasha ran his metal hand down Steve’s back, again, raising a wave of goosebumps at the hard, cold touch, until he reached between Steve’s cheeks to push just the tip of his thumb into Steve’s hole. The contrast of cool and hard made Steve whine, but it was _something_ inside him, but only for a moment. Sasha pulled his finger out again, running it back along Steve’s spine. It was nothing but a tease.

“You are not allowed to come until I say you can,” Sasha said roughly

Steve groaned, pressing his face against the cool surface of the table. Seeming to take the reaction as protest, Sasha slapped Steve’s ass hard. The smack stung for a long moment, the sound reverberating shockingly in the room. The the sharp sting of shame returned, but there was also the warmth on his cheek, the ache that dissolved into pleasant burn all too soon. Being spanked was humiliating, but _arousing_. Especially the way his body jerked in response, like he wouldn’t mind if Sasha did it again.

“Do you understand?” Sasha demanded.

“Yes,” Steve moaned helplessly.

The metal hand roamed his back again, making Steve shiver. He arched into the touch, cool and grounding as his body finally started to calm, to quiet. It was easier to focus on it than the ache in his ass, the need his body had to be filled again. He still moved his hips a little, unable to help himself, or ignore Sasha’s wet, heavy cock resting over his tailbone. It was there, so close, so _infuriatingly_ close; nothing but a horrible tease.

Long minutes passed, Steve’s breathing evening out, becoming less ragged.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Sasha explained, voice low and rumbling, “Fuck you until I come inside you, filling you up. You will let me, doll. Do nothing more than take it. Do you want to _take_ it, Steve? Be a nice little hole for me?”

Steve moaned again, arching his back, rubbing his ass under Sasha’s cock, so hot he was almost mindless with it. The calm he had managed under Sasha’s hand was gone. With just a few sentences and a question, Sasha had reduced him to mindless need again.

“Yes,” Steve answered, “Sasha, oh god, _please_ , give it to me.”

Growling, Sasha did. He stepped back, pressed his cock to Steve’s hole, and thrust inside hard.

Shouting with pleasure, Steve arched, pushing back and then gripping the table edge to keep himself still. It dug into his palms as Sasha fucked him fast, hard, ruthless and heedless of Steve’s pleasure. Sasha’s balls slapped against Steve’s with every vicious push in and soon, all Steve could do was hold on. The edge of the solid oak dug into his hips, his cock heavy and throbbing and dripping beneath. He was desperately hard and oh-so-close. Even the way Sasha’s thrusts forced it to wave uselessly in the air was almost too much stimulation. Sasha was gripping his hips, panting with effort, fucking Steve as hard as he could, making him slip and slide on the table.

Steve was so agonisingly aware of his body, of every single point of contact, of pleasure and ache the rough fucking was giving him. His breath punched out of him on every thrust. It whistled when Steve sucked air in desperately on every pull out. It felt as though he could come any second. Any _moment_.

Closing his eyes, he tried to even out his breathing. Pressing his forehead hard into the table, he clenched his ass hard around the thick cock fucking him mercilessly and rode the edge of pleasure without letting it crest. Simply felt it build and build and build endlessly inside him.

With a grunt and a long groan, Sasha came. Steve sobbed at the last, hard, _deep_ thrusts slammed into him. More than ever, he was aware of the way Sasha’s cock hardened that little bit extra, jerked and spilled the shockingly hot come inside him, branding him. Moaning deeply, Steve slumped against the table, whimpering. His body jerked and twitched helplessly as Sasha slowly pulled out, leaving him empty again. There was no thought to protest, though. No thought to move from where he’d been left.

“Look at you now, kitten,” Sasha said, his breathing still uneven. “Your hole isn’t as pristine as it was a moment ago.”

Two flesh fingers touched him, tracing the swollen rim with the lightest of caresses. It made Steve squirm, already hyper aware of his ass; made him clench helplessly on _nothing_.

“Even your clenching down isn’t helping you, doll. You’re so sloppy, so wet and open… Jesus, it’s like you were made for being fucked, for being _wrecked_.” The fingers slipped inside roughly, giving Steve a few thrusts before pulling out and yanking a sob from Steve’s trembling body. “I’m going to fuck this slutty little hole of yours so many times today, kitten.”

Sasha’s hands ran over his overheated skin, making him shiver and twitch. Up his spine, down his back, over his flanks and shoulders. He lost all track of time as he lay there beneath soothing, teasing hands. The hands, one warm, one cool, ran down his thighs, to his knees. Steve could feel the come leaking out of him, down his thighs. Warm flesh fingers carefully dragged through it, scooping it up and slowly rubbed it back into his hole. Steve shuddered, whimpering, because he already knew that Sasha wass going to make him wait. The flesh hand didn’t leave his hole, tracing the stretched, sloppy rim, smearing the come leaking from inside, making Steve so aware of that part of his body it was almost too much. Though his cock _ached_ , throbbing with need, his body began to calm beneath Sasha’s touch.

“By the time I’m done with it, doll, your hole will be completely open. Wet and loose like a girl’s pussy, I swear.”

The comparison left Steve moaning, shuddering, but unable to deny how much he wanted Sasha to fuck him. Use him. _Wreck_ him completely.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The spanking is dedicated solely to a pretty [vixen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes) because spankings make everything better.

Chapter 14

When Steve was breathing easily again, when his body had stopped shivering beneath Sasha’s touch, he stepped away and pulled Steve to his feet. Steve’s legs didn’t want to cooperate at first, knees going weak as he stood, but Sasha held him up easily, held him tightly to his body, feeling all the small shivers that were wracking Steve’s body now, feeling how very hard the man was against him, pliantly leaning against Sasha’s chest. Steve’s eyes were liquid and a little unfocused, already heading towards the sub-drop even though he hadn’t come yet.

When he was sure Steve could stand on his own, Sasha herded him towards the stairs. He stayed close, kept a hand always on Steve’s back, his shoulder, his hip as they took the stairs to the bedroom. From there, Sasha gently guided him to the bathroom when he pushed him face first against the wall, kicking his legs wide once more. Steve leaned heavily against the surface, pressing his heated forehead to the tile and closing his eyes.

“Sasha,” Steve moaned quietly.

“You’re dripping, Stevie,” Sasha purred. “Looks so good, leaking out of your hot little hole.”

Sasha pressed close to his back, enjoying the shiver that wracked Steve’s body when he pressed his fully clothed length against all that naked skin along his back. He reached around, groped Steve’s pecs; just grabbing two handfuls of them and groaning. They felt so firm and big in his palms, like real fuckng tits.

“I love your tits, Steve,” he praised, enjoying another shiver. “I love how they feel, so firm and big in my hands. My god, doll, they fill my palms completely.” Pinching Steve’s nipples hard between his fingers, he watched the blush spread down his neck again and felt the sharp reaction to each sting he inflicted. “I can barely look at you shirtless. I want to put my hands on your tits so bad _every time_. I want to rub them until you beg me for more. Sometimes, I wonder how sensitive your nipples are, and if I put in enough effort could I make you come just from tormenting them?”

Pinching hard, he pulled Steve’s nipples away from his body, stretching the skin, making it hurt. Steve shuddered against him, gasped like a drowning man, and shoved his ass back at Sasha. Desperately, his hands scrabbled at the tiled wall for any kind of purchase, finding none and shuddering even harder.

Sasha relented and let go, stepping back.

“Time for a shower, kitten. Strip me.”

Uncommonly uncoordinated, Steve’s movements were sloppy as he turned around and looked at Sasha. His face was flushed and pupils blown wide. He looked drugged, or drunk.

“What?”

It wasn’t a protest, just confusion, as if Steve’s mind couldn’t handle the abrupt change of direction.

“Take my clothes off so that we can have a shower,” Sasha repeated gently.

Steve’s cock was still hard, the erection not letting up even a little, standing out against his belly, flushed and wet from all the precome dripping from it. Steve was so good though, he didn’t even try to reach for it.

Licking his lips, Steve pushed his hand flat against the wall and forced himself away. He didn’t sway, or stumble, but it took obvious effort to take that single step forward so he could reach Sasha. Steve’s hands wrapped about his hips, gaze sliding over him, assessing where to start. 

Abruptly Steve dropped to his knees, so fast Sasha at first thought he’d fallen, but his hands reached up to Sasha’s jeans, thumbing open the button and sliding down the zipper. They pushed under the waistband of both pants and underwear, rougher than any time Steve had touched him before.

“That’s it, doll,” Sasha encouraged. “God, you look so good on your knees. Just gorgeous.”

Flushing, Steve dropped his eyes for the first time since Sasha had given the order that first night to not look away. The blue gaze slowly lifted back to him from beneath pale lashes, somehow more shy than when Sasha had fucked him. As Steve pulled his pants and underwear down and off, Sasha reached out to run his hands through short, blonde strands. It couldn’t actually be possible that Steve didn’t know how hot he was, could it?

Steve pushed his head into Sasha’s hand, acting like the kitten Sasha called him, and pulled the jeans off Sasha’s bare feet before tossing them aside. The underwear followed.

”Never seen anything like you,” Sasha purred, “So eager for me, blushing so pretty, and your ass, kitten, god that ass. Can’t get enough of it, of you. So sexy, so easy with me. “

Flushing darker, Steve put a foot beneath himself to push up and Sasha bent to help, taking his arm and pulling him to his feet. He swayed then, but Sasha was certain it was because he had taken another handful of Steve’s incredible tits, squeezing and rolling the nipple between his metal fingers.

“And these, god I love your perfect tits. Pretty as anything. You love it when I play with them, don’t you? The sounds you make, doll. Like I’m fucking you.”

“S-Sasha,” Steve whimpered, eyes half closed and swaying towards Sasha helplessly.

Though he was trying as best he could, Steve was struggling with Sasha’s shirt. Just couldn’t get it up and over his torso. It wasn’t helping that Sasha refused to assist. He was busy, teasing and toying with Steve’s nipples. Groping his tits and completely ignoring the erection bobbing between Steve’s legs. Hard, angry red, it slapped against Steve’s stomach while Sasha’s own was soft, satisfied.

Sasha smirked as Steve finally got his shirt up, over his head. The blue cotton garment dropped to the ground, and Sasha turned on the shower. It heated quickly, and taking Steve’s arm, Sasha lead him under the water.

“My favorite part of you, kitten, is your eyes,” Sasha explained, “Watching me, _wanting_ me; so honest. I always know just how hot I’m making you by your eyes. Like now, you’re so fucking hard, so needy, but you love that I’m denying you, aren’t you, doll?”

Licking his lips, Steve nodded.

“Wash me,” Sasha commanded; there was little chance of Steve getting enough thoughts together to do it on his own.

Obediently, Steve turned and grabbed the soap. Lathering it in his hands, he started with Sasha’s chest and sighed, sounding utterly content just being allowed to touch. As if Steve enjoyed touching Sasha as much as he enjoyed being touched.

Moving in closer, Steve nuzzled into Sasha’s neck as he worked lower, over Sasha’s abs and hips. Not moving, not helping at all, Sasha smirked as Steve’s lips brushed his throat, then higher behind his ear. Despite his contentment, Steve was horny as hell. Getting to touch Sasha wasn’t helping, especially as his hands worked their way between Sasha’s legs. Gentle, but firm, Steve lathered up his balls, rolling them between his hands as his lips sucked a mark beneath Sasha’s ear.

When Steve’s hands moved to his cock, Sasha let out a long breath through his nose. Hesitantly, Steve lifted his head from Sasha’s neck, watching him through those pale lashes. So unsure, nervous, so Sasha smiled and saw his shoulders relax. The smile became genuine when Steve next leaned in, brushing their lips together. Tilting his head, Sasha deepened the contact, drawing a soft moan from Steve.

Reluctant hands moved from between Sasha’s legs, but Steve didn’t stop kissing him. Steve’s hands roamed everywhere, more than washing Sasha, enjoying being allowed to do this. Enthusiastic wasn’t the right word for it, more like _eager_. Like Sasha had offered Steve a treat, a reward in this shower.

Soon, Steve started to rub himself against Sasha’s belly as they kissed. Sasha smirked, lifting his hands to curl them around Steve’s shoulders. The simple touch made Steve groan, thrusting harder, the silky head of his cock slip-sliding over Sasha’s wet skin.

“You can rub yourself on me as much as you want,” Sasha said against Steve’s lips, hands “but you still can’t come.”

The nod Steve gave was easy, obedient, _accepting_. Swallowing hard, Sasha wrapped his arms around Steve, grabbed hold of his wonderful ass, and pushed his fingers inside the still-loose hole. Steve choked out a cry, pressing a hard kiss against Sasha’s lips, trembling now as he continued rubbing himself against Sasha’s stomach, then back onto his fingers.

Biting at Steve’s lips, he broke the kiss to look into Steve’s eyes. He wasn’t close, not yet, but his eyes were completely blown, lost in the sensation and pleasure. When Steve realized - slowly - that Sasha was staring at him, he blushed again.

Sasha smirked, charmed as hell. There would never be anyone as perfect for him as Steve; Sasha was sure of it.

“You’re so wet, kitten,” he teased, “Wet and loose, ready for me when I decide to use you again. Use that perfect hole. It’s mine, isn’t it? Your ass is _mine_. Say it, Stevie. Say it.”

“Yours,” Steve gasped, thrusting fervently to get any kind of sensation on his needy dick, “M-my ass is yours.”

The blush was spreading all over Steve’s neck and down his chest. It visibly embarrassed him to say those words, but his cock became even harder against Sasha’s skin. The hands gripping Sasha’s hips were tightening painfully.

Groaning, Sasha pushed his fingers harder into Steve’s hole; into the slick, smooth clench of it. The muscles quivered around him, trying to clench down, yet too exhausted to do more than twitch. Steve was gasping now, breath coming in hard little pants. Sasha was wondering if he’d have to stop Steve from continuing when he jerked away on his own. Leaning against the shower wall across from Sasha, he stared at him with heavily-lidded eyes, hands opening and closing spasmodically. His breathing was no less harsh, his cock twitching with his pulsing heart, so desperate it was flat against his belly. Still, he didn’t try to touch it. Didn’t make any effort to disobey.

Sasha could barely breathe with how much it affected him, seeing Steve this _willing_ to obey. It was incredible. Perfect. Hot as hell, and all for him.

Moving slowly, Sasha wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist and carefully turned him around so his cock wouldn’t brush against Sasha. Hooking his metal arm about Steve’s waist, he held him up, under the spray, taking the soap in his flesh hand.

“That was good, kitten,” Sasha praised softly, washing the sweat from Steve’s skin. He kept his movements slow and sure, hoping to soothe him with the touch. “So good. You got no idea how amazing you are, doll. Fucking perfect, so _trusting_ , Jesus. Gonna be so good to you, Stevie. Give you everything you need.”

In his arms, Steve trembled, legs hardly providing him with any support. His head was tipped back against Sasha’s shoulder, exposing the long line of his throat. Mouth open, he was still breathing hard, gasping for breath, both hands wrapped about Sasha’s metal arm.

“You’re leaking so much,” Sasha murmured, lips pressed to Steve’s hair, “So hard for me, so _close_. Such a good kitten. My beautiful Stevie.”

Whimpering softly, Steve turned his head and clumsily sought Sasha’s lips. Chuckling, he allowed the contact, kissing Steve gently, slowly. Steve melted into his arms, moaning softly as Sasha’s tongue traced his lips, teeth nipping at the full red lips. He stopped shaking, breathing easing so he didn’t sound like he was running a marathon anymore. Sasha smiled against Steve’s mouth; he was so pliant, so easy to manipulate.

Carefully, supporting most of Steve’s weight, Sasha helped him from the shower. Letting him lean against the wall, he dried them both. To ease the process, he picked Steve up to carry him out to the bedroom. Nearly as soon as he hit the mattress, Steve’s arms wrapped around his shoulders and he whimpered.

“Shh, doll,” Sasha murmured, rolling him onto his side and curling up behind him, “I’m here. You’re all right; I got you.”

Steve’s body shuddered, pressing back against him so every inch that could be touching was. Sasha brushed his lips over Steve’s shoulder, his neck, the spot behind his ear that sent shivers running down his spine. He was still hard, still needy, but he was slipping further and further from the edge every moment. Sasha was sated, relaxed and comfortable with Steve in his arms. Perhaps the cuddling was for Steve, but Sasha had to admit he enjoyed it just as much. Being needed, offering comfort, being so obviously well-received, it did things to his heart. Here, in this bed, he felt more human than any time in the last five years.

When he thought Steve was somewhere between asleep and awake, Sasha slipped his hand down his stomach and gently took him in hand. Steve reacted like he’d been shocked by a live wire, jerking and gasping, body abruptly tense in Sasha’s arms. Chuckling at the reaction, Sasha nipped at Steve’s ear, stroked just once, and dropped his hand lower to squeeze and fondle Steve’s balls.

“Spread your legs, Steve,” Sasha commanded, “You want to let me at your hole again, don’t you?”

Whimpering, Steve didn’t hesitate, rolling into the hand holding his balls. Half-on his side, half-on his stomach, Steve spread his legs and whined.

“So _eager_ ,” Sasha teased.

Though he was lying on Sasha’s arm, it was easy to keep touching, gently squeezing, rolling the sensitive skin in his flesh hand. Steve gasped, trembled, hands clutching at the bed sheets. Trailing the metal hand down Steve’s back, he pressed against Steve’s rim, making it twitch at the contact. He didn’t push inside, just teased the swollen lip, tracing the hole and making Steve hiccup for air.

Releasing Steve’s balls, he offered his cock another singular stroke, and groped roughly at his pecs.

“God, kitten, I love your fuckin’ tits. Just wanna play with them all day.”

Steve let out a sob, then a shout as Sasha pinched one nipple and pulled. His body arched like a bow, ass pressing into Sasha’s hand and his chest into the other. So over-sensitive and needy, willing to take anything Sasha dished out. Pain, pleasure, so long as Sasha _touched_ him. It was dizzying to behold.

Lifting his hand higher, Sasha pressed his fingers against Steve’s lips. They parted instantly as Steve gasped for air. Groaning, Sasha pressed the rough pads against Steve’s tongue. This time, the man was too far gone to remember to suck.

“Suck, doll,” Sasha growled, “Let me feel that lovely tongue of yours.”

With a whimper, Steve obeyed. His lips wrapped around the two fingers invading his mouth and he sucked. He was furnance hot, the tongue wrapping around sensitive digits, but Steve’s body was still arched, still a perfect bow in his arms. Sasha teased his hole again and received a whimpering cry.

Dropping all pretense of teasing, Sasha yanked his fingers free and wrapped his fist about Steve’s cock. He stroked quickly, pulling hard, and Steve made a sound like someone was choking him. For the second time his hands flailed at the sheets, eventually clenching down so tightly he heard the fabric tear. Sasha didn’t stop, stroking mercilessly, fast as his arm would let him and Steve _shouted_. The cry filled the entire house, as loud as Sasha had ever heard him.

Desperately, Steve grabbed the nearest pillow and bit down, trying to muffle the yell. His hips pumped counterpoint to Sasha’s wrist, balls pulling up fast.

Sasha let go just as suddenly as he had started, leaving Steve shuddering and gasping around the bit of pillow in his mouth.

“Shh,” Sasha soothed, pressing himself close to Steve’s back again, running his hands everywhere he could reach, he stroked over Steve’s heaving sides, his thighs, and hips. “You did good, kitten. So good. You didn’t come, I’m so proud of you.”

As much as Sasha knew he should give Steve more time to come down, he couldn’t keep his hands away from him. Not from that absolutely stunning body. Leaving Steve’s poor, abused cock alone, Sasha returned to touching his ass. The round firmness was a temptation he couldn’t resist, he didn’t even want to.

For a while, he just fondled the cheeks, pressing himself close to Steve, feeling him shiver and tremble under him. Then he slid his fingers between them, brushing the swollen rim. Between the fucking Steve had received and the long session of finger-fucking, the rim was swollen. Most likely, it was also very sensitive, if the way Steve broke out in goosebumps when he touched it was any indication. Still gasping helplessly into the pillow, Steve’s eyes were scrunched tightly closed as his body shivered and jerked randomly.

There was lube in the bedside table, Sasha knew, so he reached for it now. Steve was already so riled up he couldn’t truly calm down. With no other thought than fucking into Steve again, listening to how desperate he would sound now, Sasha slicked himself again. When he wrapped his hand around his own cock, he hissed, a little shocked at how eager he was already. Steve didn’t move as he guided himself between those stunning cheeks. The head of his cock caught on the swollen rim and, with a gentle push, Sasha sank in.

Steve made a loud sound, half-yell, half-sob and his whole body undulated under Sasha. It was as if Steve couldn’t decide if he wanted to get away or push into the sensation. Clenching randomly around around Sasha’s dick, he was very hot, tight, despite the abuse his hole had taken. It was absolutely _incredible_ sinking balls-deep into that hard body, seeing how every single muscle in Steve’s back stood out in sharp relief as he all but howled into the pillow..

Sasha pushed until he was as deep as he could go, feeling all the muscles clenching desperately on him, milking his cock. An animalistic sound tore through Steve, then trailed off into sobbing, gasping cries.

“Can’t,” Steve begged, “Can’t, please… ‘m gonna come, Sasha.”

Circling his hips a little, not thrusting, not giving Steve any more stimulation, Sasha made sure he was very aware of the cock inside him again.

“You can,” Sasha said in as cold a tone as he could manage. “You _won’t_ come.” Gripping Steve’s hips hard enough to bruise, he rolled atop Steve, and pulled him even tighter flush against his hips. “You _will_ lie here and calm down.”

Steve tensed and gasped, hyperventilating, and then abruptly started crying. Just sobbing, his body tensing around Sasha’s cock convulsively. Wrapping his arms around Steve, Sasha pressed his face to Steve’s sweaty neck and hummed softly at him, not trying to stop him, just holding him through it.

It took almost five minutes for Steve to calm down. When the sobs stopped, he was only partially hard and completely relaxed, his body no longer a line of desperate tension. As if, in that moment, Steve truly accepted that he wasn’t coming before Sasha let him. Finally stopped fighting and just gave in.

Never pulling his cock out, Sasha tugged Steve’s hips up so that his dick hung freely in the air, touching nothing. It was heady, the knowledge that the only stimulation Steve was getting was from Sasha’s dick stretching him out. The only pleasure coming from Sasha’s cock.

Slowly Sasha pulled out, running his hands from Steve’s hips, up his sides. Shuddering, Steve held still, hands opening and closing reflexively until Sasha pushed in again, hard and deep and _ruthless_. Then they clenched down, his muscles straining, but he didn’t try to thrust back, didn’t beg for more, or to come. He just shuddered, gasped, and held on, pliant and willing.

“That’s right,” Sasha encouraged, “Just take it.”

Though he had already come once, Sasha was surprisingly close already. Steve’s utter submission hit him hard, left him more aroused than he could recall being before. Even now, as Sasha thrust into him hard, fast, drilling in as deep as he could, Steve didn’t try to touch his own cock. He was just lying there, taking it, gasping like a drowning man on every harsh thrust in but never trying to get what he so desperately wanted.

Sasha couldn’t help himself, he pushed harder, held off his own orgasm until he could see the tremors wracking Steve’s body start again. Every muscle stood out, tense and straining with the effort to obey. Steve’s whole frame was sliding up the bed with every thrust, his skin covered in a sheen of sweat. He spread his legs wider, bracing himself on the bed so Sasha had easier access to him. The bedclothes tore again under Steve’s clenching hands and Sasha cursed, letting go and coming hard inside Steve, thrusting deep and staying there, spilling himself inside that willing body.

Though he whimpered, Steve lay still, pliant and just whimpered at the continued denial. Carefully, mindful of just how sore and sensitive Steve had to be at this point, Sasha pulled out. The once-tense muscles were limp now, Steve’s body only held up by Sasha’s hands. All except his cock, but that was to be expected.

“Kitten, you are so pretty like this,” Sasha murmured, running his hands over Steve’s thighs to his cheeks and spreading him wide, “So wrecked… All wet and dripping with my come. It’s going to leak out of you for _hours_ yet.”

Leaning down, Sasha ran his tongue over Steve’s fucked-out hole. It was a single swipe, just flattening his tongue and running it over the swollen, twitching rim and tasting him. Life returned to Steve’s body as it jerked, neither away, nor towards him. Sasha thrust his tongue deep inside, lapping at the stretched walls, and a shout tore from Steve's throat. It was rough, cracking down the middle from his throat’s overuse.

When Sasha pulled away, licked his lips, the sound that left Steve was a long, low moan.

“Not yet, doll,” Sasha said soothingly.

Moving back up along Steve’s side, keeping a hand on him at every moment, Sasha tugged and pulled at Steve until he was on his side, partly curled on top of Sasha’s chest, head tucked on his shoulder. Partially lying on his side as well, Sasha held Steve close as shudders began to wrack his body again, evidence that he’d fallen into sub-drop again. The back-and-forth motion had to have felt like whiplash, but Steve didn’t complain, didn’t beg either. He just burrowed into Sasha, somehow making his huge frame small, compact enough to fit against him as though he belonged there.

Murmuring into Steve’s ear, Sasha felt him shudder one last time and go limp. He kept shivering, but the longer Sasha whispered sweet nothings - random soothing, praising words - the less frequently they occurred. When Sasha shifted, intending to go clean himself up, Steve whimpered. Shushing him, Sasha curled back up around him and ran his hands up and down Steve’s back. Soon Steve was pliant in his arms again. His cock rested gently against Sasha’s hip now only partially erect again.

It took a long time, but Steve achieved a state between sleep and wakefulness. Eyes mostly closed, his breathing was deep and even. Even his cock had softened. When Sasha shifted away, pulling the blankets up and around Steve, he just muttered incoherently. That was a good sign, so Sasha felt he could leave for the few minutes it would take in the bathroom.

When he came out, phone in hand, Steve was watching him.

“I texted Sai telling him not to come back here for a few more hours,” Sasha explained.

“Hours?” Steve asked hoarsely.

Sasha smiled, returning to the bed and pulling Steve into his arms. Sliding his hands down Steve’s back to the swell of his ass, then between the cheeks, he dragged his fingertips over the slick, swollen hole. Steve shuddered and gasped immediately, burying his face in Sasha’s chest.

“Yes.”

“God,“ Steve exhaled shakily.

“You’re as wet as a woman, Stevie,” Sasha said, still lightly petting Steve’s swollen hole, seemingly incapable of leaving it alone. Full of lube and my come.”

Gratifyingly, Steve shuddered and spread his legs a little, granting Sasha better access without even being asked this time. Dragging his fingers through the mess slowly pooling on Steve’s thigh, Sasha scooped it up and tried to push it back inside.

“You are such a mess, Steve. Loose and open and just a _mess_.”

Steve grasped at his shoulders, back arching, and eyes screwed shut. Sasha pressed two fingers inside, feeling how swollen the little hole was, how desperately sensitive, as Steve gasped wetly into his neck, hands scrabbling at him.

“You should drink something. Eat,” Sasha murmured,

“Eat,” Steve repeated helplessly, brain not engaging even after resting.

“Yeah,” Sasha repeated, “I’ll make you a protein shake. Come down to the kitchen.” He stood, pulling away and looking down at the mess that was now Steve Rogers. “Don’t dress.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The spanking is dedicated to a pretty [vixen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes) because spankings make everything better.
> 
> Also light BDSM

Chapter 15

Perversely, Sasha did pull on his clothes. Just sweatpants, but it was still more than Steve was allowed. Making enough noise that Steve could track him easily, he left the bedroom and headed down to the kitchen.. He found the box of protein powder and the blender long before Steve managed to make his way to the kitchen, stark naked and, from the way his hands fluttered, self conscious about it.

Sitting down on one of the chairs Steve had shoved aside earlier, Sasha held out his hand and smiled as Steve came right to him. Pulling, he made Steve sit sideways on his lap, an arm around his back to hold him steady. Not knowing how to fit his big body on Sasha’s lap, Steve sat awkwardly. While lying down, he could fold himself into a tiny space, but sitting was clearly another matter altogether.

“Here, drink,” Sasha ordered gently, pressing the shake into Steve’s hand. “We have to keep you hydrated.”

Blue eyes were dubious, but he lifted the glass to his lips. Smirking, Sasha slid his flesh hand over Steve’s thighs, between his legs. Steve choked, darting a wide-eyed look at him, but forced himself to swallow and keep drinking. Keeping an eye on him, Sasha played with the lube and come that made his thighs slick. When Steve’s eyes shut tightly, Sasha leaned in and bit at his nipples, using teeth while he sucked, not bothering to be gentle. He deliberately added a bite of pain to his caresses because he was starting to suspect Steve enjoyed the pain as much as the pleasure.

Crying out, Steve jerked the glass from his lips and wiped at his mouth. One of his arms locked over Sasha’s shoulders, the other still holding the mostly-full glass. Sasha licked at the closest nipple and bit down hard, pulling a strangled sound from Steve. Then he pulled back, stretching the nipple away from Steve’s body. Smirking at the shuddering gasp it caused, he let go and bent down to scrape his teeth over the stunning tits. Getting as much flesh between his teeth as he could, he bit down and licked at the tight flesh trapped between his teeth.

Sasha couldn’t get enough. Steve’s body was a dream, not only the perfect muscles, the way his pecs strained and flexed with every single movement, or the way the muscles of his abdomen stood out so sharply even while he was sitting. Also, the half-hard cock that was resting against his thigh looked stunningly vulnerable, almost _obscene_. God, there were so many things Sasha wanted to do to Steve, so many he was dizzy thinking about them all. He wanted to explore every boundary, every possible kink right then and there, wanted to see how far would Steve let him go. Where the line was.

“Drink it,” Sasha ordered again between bites. Steve’s nipples were already red and puffy and Sasha wonded just how swollen he could make them. “Then you can give me a blowjob and I’ll finger you though it. Your little hole is so loose now, it would be shame to let it tighten again.”

A violent shudder rippled through Steve’s entire frame, but when Sasha looked up, he was lifting the glass back to his lips. Steve’s hand shook, but he closed his eyes tightly and drank, not choking or pausing again even when Sasha bit down harder than before. Obedient, submissive, and so good at following orders.

Except no, he wasn’t. Steve was terrible at following orders, never listened to anyone. Stubborn as a mule and twice as difficult. If he’d had any excess pride, he’d be impossible to deal with.

Sasha’s mouth was dry, staring at Steve, frozen as he finished the drink. Those weren’t _his_ observations. Or, they were, just from a past he couldn’t remember. It threatened to pull him out of this moment, so he pushed it down, away, to reflect on later. Right now Steve needed his full attention, deserved it; there were still hours to go.

Sasha took the glass from Steve’s hand and set on the table. Dropping his hand to Steve’s lap, he closed his hand lightly over his cock. Steve gasped and jerked minutely before stilling himself in Sasha’s lap again. He was so good, so fucking good for Sasha it was taking his breath away.

Letting go again, having only meant to tease, Sasha eased Steve to the floor between his knees. Looping an arm around Sasha’s leg, Steve nuzzled against his knee. It was so sweetly innocent, just a simple desire for contact, that Sasha wanted to melt.

“You want my cock now, kitten?” Sasha asked, leaning forward and running his hand through Steve’s hair. “Want me to play with you some more?”

Blue eyes looked up at him, dark and guileless and Steve nodded. Sasha’s cock immediately jumped with interest and a breathless kind of desire because it had already been hours and Steve was still so willing to let Sasha do _anything_ to him. Just this knowledge was almost as good as feeling Steve’s lips on his dick.

“Crawl over to the couch, kitten,” Sasha instructed calmly.

Steve glanced in the direction of his grey couch, then up at Sasha as if confirming what he’d been told. Nodding, Sasha brushed his hand through his hair again and smirked as Steve sighed. He didn’t complain, though, crawling his way across the hardwood floor, ass swaying in the air.

“Jesus, doll,” Sasha called after him, “Your ass is leaking so damned much.”

Though his head dropped and he whimpered, Steve kept crawling forward. Sasha got up when he was nearly there, stripping out of his sweats and lying back against the armrest. When Steve came around the corner and saw that Sasha was naked, Steve froze. The blush on his face burned brightly, but his eyes locked onto Sasha’s straining cock.

“Yeah, Stevie,” Sasha purred, “all for you. Come here.”

Licking his lips, Steve hurried forward and Sasha pulled him close to the edge. Then, using his metal hand, he cupped the fragile curve of Steve’s head. Steve pushed back into it, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, as if he wasn’t aware that Sasha could literally crush his skull.

“Take it in, Steve,” Sasha murmured.

Holding his cock with his other hand, he pressed it to Steve’s lips, and let out a shuddering breath as he felt Steve’s hot moist breath on the head. Steve looked up at him from beneath his ridiculously long lashes, pupils blown so wide his eyes looked almost black. Then he opened his mouth, letting Sasha see how he wrapped his lips over his teeth before sinking onto Sasha’s dick.

The inside of Steve’s mouth was hot and wet. His tongue worked busily, if clumsily. Forced to brace one hand on Sasha’s thigh to get a better angle, the position wasn’t refined or practiced, but it was perfect because all Sasha need do to reach Steve’s abused ass was stretch a hand over his back. When he did, when his flesh fingers slid between those tight cheeks, he skimmed over the swollen rim. Steve was so sensitive, the gentle brush made him inhale sharply around him.

Keeping one hand on the back of Steve’s head, Sasha pushed two fingers of the other past his rim. Curling them to find Steve’s prostate, he pressed and Steve almost choked. Flinching violently, he pulled away from Sasha’s cock to pant heavily against Sasha’s thigh. Sasha kept fingering him roughly, making damned sure to drag his fingers over Steve’s prostate every time.

“Sasha,” Steve gasped, wet lips dragging over Sasha’s leg. He sounded breathless and desperate, pleading for mercy with just Sasha’s name.

“This wasn’t the deal, kitten,” Sasha said gently, thrusting his fingers harder, mercilessly, and unerringly. “I know you love having your hole teased, but you promised me anything, and I asked for a blowjob.”

The gentle scolding made Steve whine and shake his head hard, as if that would clear the fog that had settled in his mind. Sasha smiled even as Steve’s fingers dug into his thigh, because Steve turned his head back and dove onto his cock. It was no more coordinated than before. He kept jerking randomly, making whining little sounds low in his throat and pulling off to rest his forehead against Sasha. Sasha’s cock was left wet and hard, sometimes slapping Steve in the face as he started just nuzzling it, not coordinated enough, or mentally aware enough to actually give a blow job. He tried, though, face red, lashes clumped together with frustrated tears. He wanted to obey, wanted it badly, but just couldn’t with Sasha’s fingers working him roughly.

Sasha pulled Steve’s head away, feeling himself too close, too soon, anyway.

“‘M sorry,” Steve whimpered.

“I guess you’ll just have to accept punishment,” Sasha murmured, making sure to dig his fingers even deeper into Steve’s ass, watching as he thrust his hips against the couch in search of stimulation.

“Punishment?” Steve repeated.

“Yeah, kitten,” Sasha said gently, swinging his legs off the couch. “There has to be some consequence for not being good, don’t you think?”

Steve blinked up at him, then nodded as if that was perfectly logical. God, but the man was too much.

Bending down, Sasha kissed Steve hard and felt him melt against him. Carefully, he pulled his fingers free and then took hold of Steve’s arms. Pulling, he bent him over his lap, ass in the air, and kept pulling until his hard length was caught between Sasha’s thighs. Steve wriggled, but stilled when the metal arm wrapped over his shoulders and the flesh hand cupped one ass cheek.

“Gonna spank you, doll,” Sasha explained. “Hold still for me. Well...as still as you can.”

“Sasha,” Steve whined as he wrapped a hand around Sasha's ankle.

“It's okay,” Sasha promised, “Trust me, Steve. Only gonna give you what you need.”

Taking a deep breath, Steve relaxed over his lap. Steve’s hand squeezed Sasha's ankle, and Sasha lifted his hand. Dropping it down, the contact reverberated through the room, sharp and loud. Steve gasped, hips twitching sharply away so his cock rubbed between Sasha's thighs. Instantly he arched, crying out as the pain and pleasure crashed so unexpectedly together.

Soothingly, Sasha ran his metal hand over Steve’s back, waiting for him to adjust. When Steve was still again, he still gasped for air, but it was enough. Sasha brought his hand down again, watched Steve strain to not thrust his hips down again. Smirking, Sasha spanked him again, then again, Steve’s ass turning red in the shape of Sasha's palm before the mark rapidly faded away again.

On the third hit, Steve shouted and convulsed, hips thrusting down before he arched back again. Sasha didn't give him a chance to relax a second time. The blows were nowhere near at his full strength, but Steve felt the bite every time, and kept shouting. Though Sasha watched for it, that breaking point that was just _too much_ , Steve never reached it. He didn't try to get away, the reaction of his body completely involuntary. He just _took it_ , and loved it, his body begging for more.

“I can’t,” Steve blurted, his ass so red even his enhanced healing couldn't react fast enough, “Sasha… I-” He shouted again, hand clamping down on Sasha’s ankle like a lifeline.

“You like it too much kitten?” Sasha teased. “I noticed.” The next blow came faster, harder and Steve yelled, his other hand digging into the couch cushions. “Afraid my painting your ass red will make you come?”

Unable to speak, even having trouble drawing breath, Steve just convulsed on his lap.

“I saw how you raised your hips when I smacked you that time,” Sasha murmured stopping for a moment to admire how Steve’s ass was turning a lovely shade of crimson. He flattened his palm on it, feeling the heat radiating from the abused flesh, enjoying how Steve rocked on his lap, subconsciously seeking friction to his cock. It was hard, hot and wet, rubbing slick little marks between Sasha’s thighs where it bobbed helplessly. “You like it, kitten, that little edge of pain. Don’t you?”

Raising his hand again, he slapped it hard on the nearest cheek. He knew the marks would fade in hours, so he worked harder, trying to be faster than Steve’s healing allowed for.

Steve gasped, his hands clenching tighter and Sasha let go with a flurry of blows, feeling how his own hand was burning. He couldn’t even take his eyes away from Steve’s body arching so beautifully, his face red and scrunched up, fighting the sting, or the urge to come. Sasha wasn’t sure. Maybe it was both.

“You can’t come Steve, you _can’t_ ,” Sasha rasped, feeling as out-of-breath as Steve looked

Sasha groaned, feeling Steve's body stretch and flinch against his legs, his cock jerking uselessly between his knees. Steve was letting out choked gasps, then whimpers. Sasha's cock throbbed, as aroused by the display as he'd ever been. Then Steve let out a low, continuous whine that ended in a shuddering sob.

Sasha stopped immediately, scrambling at Steve’s shoulders and pulling him up and against him. Hugging him as close to his chest as the awkward position allowed, he pressed a kiss to Steve's sweaty temple. Steve twisted, his arms locking over Sasha’s shoulders and clinging to him in turn. They were both panting. Steve was shuddering, his overheated face pressed against Sasha’s neck. Sasha was panting too, out of breath and so hard that having his cock trapped between their bodies was nearly painful.

“You did good, Stevie,” Sasha crooned, “You did so good; it’s almost over now.”

Steve whimpered, arms tightening weakly around him. There was hardly any strength left in those gorgeous muscles. Steve’s body was so pliant and relaxed, it was almost liquid in Sasha’s arms. He held him until the worst of the shaking stopped, until his own erection had subsided some, just stroking Steve’s back and holding him close. Slowing his breathing, Sasha smiled as Steve’s breathing matched his, the ribcage between his arms expanding in a more regular, more controlled rhythm.

Nuzzling into his neck, Steve was so sweet, needy, seeking only to be touched, not even sexually. This was the real reason Sasha had pushed Steve so hard so many times. To have Steve so obviously _need_ him soothed any sting of imagining Tony Stark between those thick thighs.

Sasha locked his metal arm around Steve’s back and slid his flesh one under his knees, standing up with one heave to hold Steve bridal-style in his arms. A sound suspiciously akin to a yelp left Steve and he clung to Sasha in surprise. In this position his hard cock was suddenly exposed, flushed and lying on Steve’s belly, leaking precome onto his skin. Steve wasn’t really getting soft anymore when Sasha gave him a breather, too wound up to fully relax.

“You are doing great, kitten,” Sasha murmured, climbing the stairs to the bedroom. He was absolutely sure that Steve would never let him carry him like this if he was in his right mind, and that only made it sweeter that Steve was letting him now. “It’s almost over. You’ve been so, so good.”

In the bedroom Sasha laid Steve down and watched as he winced, squirming uncomfortable, when his abused ass hit the bedspread.

“Turn over, kitten,” Sasha demanded, “Let me get a good look at that beautiful ass of yours.”

Sasha tugged at his hip until Steve obeyed, folding his arms under his his head as Sasha inspected his backside. Both cheeks were dark red, the flush spread out unevenly, and traveling even lower to the tops of his thighs. Sasha licked his lips, remembering how it felt to slap his open palm against Steve’s skin, how it sounded, how Steve jerked and arched and never once said _stop_.

Slowly, Sasha laid both hands on those red cheeks and Steve moaned, arching back into him sharply. Sasha blinked before realising his metal hand probably felt nice against the heated skin. Kneading the firm muscles, he reawakened the sting and made Steve gasp, writhe on the bed, and moan.

“You have no idea how hot you are right now. Like a dream come true, kitten. A fuckin’ dream.”

Sasha couldn’t stop himself from parting those abused cheeks to get another look at Steve’s even more abused hole. The ring of muscle was red, swollen, and puffy after being fucked and fingered so many times in the last few hours. It glistened with remnants of lube and come, twitching even now.

“Your hole kitten, god, it looks so _wrecked_.” Steve twitched at Sasha’s words, squirming as if Sasha was spanking him again. His breathing became louder, more uneven. “It’s still slick and looks damned soft - damned easy now. I could probably sink right in without any resistance whatsoever.”

Steve tried to choke down a sound and hiccuped, flinching from Sasha’s hands and then backing up the next moment.

“Sasha,” he managed, a plea or a protest, Sasha didn’t know. Steve probably wouldn't have been able to say. It didn’t matter. All Sasha cared about was that Steve was still pressing against him, still arching his ass towards him while spreading his legs.

Kneeling on the bed, he pulled Steve’s cheeks wider apart and bent his head. He stuffed as much of his tongue inside that puffy little hole as possible. He sealed his lips around it and sucked at the rim, using his tongue to alternatively stab inside and lick all around. Steve was moaning continuously, wriggling and shifting like Sasha was killing him.

“Sasha, Sasha, Sasha…” Steve was sobbing, begging, saying his name over and over like a litany, a chant, or a prayer.

Sasha pulled away, licking his lips, still holding on to the cheeks of Steve’s ass to keep the burn from the spanking from fading.

“This is the last time kitten, you can come as soon as I get my dick inside you,” Sasha promised. “But not before okay?”

Steve sobbed, but nodded. Sasha took his cock in his hand and pressed the head against Steve’s hole, not pressing in yet. Steve made a low, whining sound and undulated his whole body under Sasha.

“Not before, Stevie,” Sasha warned and licked his lips. “Wait ‘til I’m completely inside you. To the _hilt_ , kitten. Not before…”

When Steve nodded again, Sasha pushed in, the head slipping inside the loose hole easily. He groaned loudly, bracing his hands on the mattress above Steve’s head. Then he shifted his weight so he sank inside Steve in one long continuous thrust that glanced directly against Steve’s prostate.

Steve shouted, a sobbing, wretched sound that seemed torn from his chest. He spasmed around Sasha, hands flailing until they closed over Sasha’s wrists, flesh and metal alike and held on tight. This time Sasha didn’t tease, just braced his knees on the bed, forcing Steve to spread his legs even more, and started fucking him hard and fast.

“You can come now, Steve. It’s over,” he panted encouragingly into his ear. “You can come, I promise. Come on, _do it_.”

With each thrust in and each retreat, Sasha made sure to fuck against Steve’s prostate, giving him as much stimulation as he could. He wasn’t going to last long himself, not after all this. Before that, he really needed for Steve to come. Needed to feel him clench on his cock that one last time, but when he tried to free his flesh hand to get it around Steve’s cock to jerk him off, Steve held on too hard for Sasha to pull away.

“Let go, kitten,” Sasha urged, “If you do I’ll jerk you off, make you feel so good. Make you _come_.”

Resting more of his weight against Steve, his hips fucked frantically into that tight, abused hole. His cock was surrounded by silky heat and wetness. Steve’s hole offered barely any resistance, sloppy and so easy for him.

“Gonna make it so good, kitten,” Sasha promised. He was panting into the side of Steve’s face, barely holding on himself. He didn’t know why but he _needed_ this, to see Steve come after all Sasha had done to him. “It’ll be the best orgasm of your life I swear.”

Steve moaned, his body arching and taut, all his muscles standing out in sharp relief. His hands clenched so hard on Sasha’s wrists the metal one whined as the plates recalibrated to sustain the increased pressure.

“Let me go, Steve…”

Steve whined and shook his head frantically, eyes closed tightly, cheek pressed hard to the comforter. His hands clenched even harder, grinding the bones of Sasha’s flesh wrist together.

“No,” Steve moaned, “No, like this. _Please_ , like this.”

Sasha cursed, pressing sloppy kisses to the side of Steve’s face, his neck, his shoulders as he fucked him like a man possessed, slamming his hips against his ass hard enough that their sweaty skin slapped together each time. He could feel the hot flush of Steve’s reddened skin against his pelvis, the tops of his thighs as they met that abused flesh, and he clenched his teeth in order not to come. He just had to stretch it that little bit more to give Steve what he wanted, to make him come from Sasha’s cock alone.

Thankfully, it didn’t take too long. Steve had been kept on edge for so long he couldn’t last. He made a sound, a low wail that built and built, his body becoming one tense line arched over the mattress as he finally came. The muscles in his ass clamped down on Sasha so hard Sasha saw stars, but he didn’t stop. He kept fucking Steve, made sure to thrust faster, _harder_ , feeling how Steve now clenched rhythmically on his cock. His body practically convulsed, the release was so strong. It took all control from him. That wailing sound continued for a long time while Steve’s body jerked, his lungs gasping for breath. The scent of come was sharp in the air, Steve spilling and spilling and spilling himself onto the bedspread below. Then he was vocalising again, his orgam lasting and _lasting_. It was unbelievably long, turning him inside-out by the feel of the fierce clench of his ass on Sasha’s dick.

Sasha didn’t last for more than a few seconds once Steve finally went loose and boneless beneath him, body turning to jelly. It took a moment, but Sasha realized Steve had come so hard, so long, he had actually passed out. That realization had his own orgasm crashing over him, making him shudder helplessly on top of Steve and spill himself for the third time into that perfect ass. He made sure to collapse a little to the side, not on top of Steve, and pulled at him until he managed to get him on his side, pressing his own chest to Steve’s back.

Despite being unconscious, Steve’s chest rose sharply between his arms. Sasha’s breathing was no better, harsh exhalations puffing against Steve’s neck. The fingers on his right hand and his toes tingled. Everything felt more sensitized than it had any right to, especially where their bodies touched.

Yet, unlike Steve, Sasha wasn’t exhausted, at least not mentally. His mind spun, trying to figure out how _this_ fit in whatever strange relationship he had with Steve Rogers. Incredible was not a word he could use to describe this experience; it wasn’t enough. There was no single word to describe how amazing it was that Steve had allowed to happen, what he’d offered to let happen.

And all because Sasha had been jealous.

From what he loosely understood of relationships, Steve had had every right to be angry with him. It wasn’t even as if Sasha thought he was lying about being with Tony, part of him just knew Steve could do better. Instead of being mad, however, Steve had offered _this_.

Sasha’s arms tightened, a confusing ball of emotions spiraling in his chest. He pressed his face into Steve’s neck, inhaling his scent, memorising it. Suddenly Steve murmured, hands reaching up and clutching blindly at him.

“Shh, shh, Stevie,” Sasha murmured instantly, “‘M here. Not goin’ anywhere. You can sleep, just sleep.”

It wasn’t good enough. Steve began shaking, his hands tightening hard on Sasha’s forearms.

“Hey,” Sasha said quickly, rolling over Steve, pressing him down into the mattress so he was _completely_ surrounded by Sasha and could see him clearly. “Kitten, you’re okay. You were so, so good, and you’re here with me now.” He brushed their lips together and Steve let out a soft sigh. “That’s it. I’m gonna get the blanket, okay? Pull it over us so you’re nice and warm. Okay?”

“‘Kay,” Steve managed, sleepy and breathless, completely out of it, the intermediate shivers still randomly wracking his body. He was crashing hard, too hard to be left alone even for a moment.

Sasha was quick, pulling out the blanket from beneath them and yanking it over them both. It wasn’t quite fast enough, Steve’s hands were shaking as they reached for him when he returned. Pulling the blanket tightly around them both, Sasha settled his weight over Steve again. This was what Steve needed, being held tight, being unable to deny Sasha was _there_ , and Steve let out that little sigh again.

“That’s it, Stevie,” Sasha crooned, “Just relax. Gonna take good care of you. You were so good to me, you know that? So perfect. Dunno what I did to make you trust me so much, Christ.”

Steve made a sound that might have been a laugh, might have been a hard exhale.

“Only one here,” Steve said slowly, “that did anythin’ wrong was me. At the hotel.” A shaking hand lifted to brush Sasha’s hair from his eyes. “Not like you’ve let me down.”

It was Sasha’s turn to laugh because _he_ was supposed to be doing the comforting. He was succeeding; Steve’s body no longer shook so hard, but Steve was still giving. Did he even know when to stop?

 

“You haven’t let me down,” Sasha promised, “and it was just a name, just your job.”

“Names matter,” Steve murmured, eyes fluttering closed.

Sasha hummed noncommittally, wanting Steve to rest. Though he twitched, eyes flying open every few moments as if certain _this_ time Sasha wouldn’t be there, he slowly settled down. Sasha didn’t mind. That little sigh left Steve every time he laid eyes on Sasha, like everything he could need was seen in that one glance. It was overwhelming.

When nearly half an hour passed without Steve stirring, Sasha reached for his phone where he’d left it on the beside table earlier.

 _You can come back_ , he texted Sai, _Clean up when you get here_.

 _You’ve got to be kidding_ , came the reply.

 _Steve is sleeping_ , Sasha typed, ignoring the statement. _Wake him and we’ll practice knife fighting again_.

There was no reply, but another half an hour later, Sasha heard the door slide quietly open and Sai move about the first floor. Letting out a breath, he laid his cheek on Steve’s shoulder. In a little while, he’d roll them onto their sides. He wanted Steve to rest a little more, but first he needed to fall deeper into sleep. If Steve was lucky, if they both were, Steve would manage to actually sleep the night through. Though he’d only been here a few days, it was obvious to Sasha that that was a very rare occurrence.

Until Steve woke, Sasha wasn’t going anywhere. It was the least he deserved.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 16

Sasha finished the seventh repetition of Hold The Ball ward off, the movement of the flesh shoulder still giving him trouble. Still it was easier today than four days ago when he started amongst Steve’s many and varied protests that it was too early. The shoulder and bullet wounds still gave him a bit of trouble, but the Tai Chi exercises would help keep his movements unhindered as he healed. They were gentle enough to not aggravate anything too badly, and he had to do _some_ exercise.

Steve was sitting on a chair in a corner, sketchbook on his knees and watching Sasha with dark eyes. Sasha figured the man was supposed to be drawing something, him presumably, but he never actually saw him put pencil to paper. Not once, in over an hour.

“You should take a picture,” Sasha murmured.

Moving his weight back onto his heels, he raised his arms into the Grasp the Bird’s Tail position. Fuck, but raising the right arm pulled like crazy at the newly-healed muscle. It was always like that with injuries to his joints or more important muscle groups. The damaged area would heal and regrow quickly, but it wouldn't be properly stretched or limber enough - that would only come with training. He knew that most of so-called ‘muscle memory’ was in the brain, but his muscles still needed to be _capable_ of performing the movements.

“Um,” was Steve’s eloquent response.

Breathing slowly, he shifted his weight forward, bending his right knee and pushing both arms forwards. Now it was his side that complained. He growled internally, feeling like an old man.

“The way you’re staring is distracting,” Sasha complained.

“Your existence is distracting,” Steve grumbled.

Sasha huffed out a laugh, completely messed up his breathing pattern for shifting into Open Up And Push, and he lost the form completely.

“That was terrible, Rogers! No wonder you didn’t get laid before meeting me.”

Sasha let his hands down and straightened out, the flow of the twenty-four forms of the simplified Tai Chi now broken.

“I had _options_ ,” Steve protested, “Just...none like,” he vaguely waved his hand at Sasha, “That.”

“If your enemies ever figured out you were attracted to men like me, you’d be screwed.”

“Mm,” Steve hummed in agreement, “but if they figure it out _now_ , I’m sure you’ll do something about it.”

There was that. Sasha shrugged.

“Stop staring.”

“I, um,” Steve stammered, color blossoming on his cheekbones, “Actually, now that you’re distracted, I have something for you.”

Sasha looked at the blush, took the towel he had left out earlier, and dried his face with it. For such a slow training session Tai Chi was damned exhausting.

“Is it a dirty present?” he asked. “Should I make sure Sai isn’t anywhere near?”

Judging from the blush, he assumed it was something sexual. He wondered just what kind of sex toys Steve would bring him. Whatever it was, Sasha was fairly sure he would be game for using them.

“No!” Steve protested hotly, blushing harder.

A pity, not sex toys, then. Sasha internally sighed.

“It’s something else. Something for you, to make you safer.”

“Condoms?” Sasha asked reflexively, enjoying being the obtuse one instead of always trying to get through to Steve when he seemed completely oblivious.

“If you need condoms to be safe, we’re having words,” Steve snapped; he still blushed darker than ever.

“Well, I’m not the one fidgeting like a cat on a hot tin roof.”

Steve harrumphed quietly, got up from his chair, and went to the chest sitting under the windows. He pulled the first drawer out, then removed a familiar box. It was small, black and flat; the one Stark had given him.

Sasha immediately lost his smirk, watching the box with wary eyes. Steve was too nervous about it for it to be anything good. For either of them.

“These are for you.”

Sasha cast one more glance at the box, then went to take it from him because, as it was turning out, Sasha was an idiot. He would accept things from Steve, as painful as they might turn out to be. At least Sasha wasn’t afraid of pain.

Taking the box, he flipped it over once, then twice in his hands before opening it, curious and apprehensive at the same time. There were six pairs of ear plugs inside. Not at all what Sasha had been expecting, though if someone had asked what he _had_ expected, he wouldn’t have been able to say. They were flesh colored and looked to be small, able to rest deep in the ear canal, barely visible to naked eye.

“You gave me ear plugs,” Sasha said slowly, hoping to get some kind of explanation from Steve.

“No- Yes-” Steve pushed his hand through his short hair. “They’re more like hearing aids.”

This time Sasha raised his eyes from the things and looked at Steve.

“You gave me _hearing aids_ ,“ he repeated.

Steve rubbed his face, sighing, and looking exasperated and fond at the same time.

“They’re _modified_ hearing aids. They can filter out certain words and garble them, while allowing everything else to be heard normally. I programmed the… “ Steve suddenly went a shade paler, but straightened his shoulders and forged on. “The torture phrase, like the one from the hotel, and the stand down code Natasha gave me. I had them programmed into those, so that nobody can ever use them on you again.” He swallowed. “Nobody _ever_ gets to hurt you like that again.”

Sasha stared. He licked his lips, feeling stunned and humbled. These little things, so small and fragile, were the closest to true _freedom_ he had ever gotten. Not from men with guns and stun batons, but from the traps in his own _mind_. It was maybe the most thoughtful thing anybody had ever done for him.

“Steve-”

“You don’t,” Steve said quickly, running his hand through his hair again; a nervous gesture Sasha hadn’t seen before. “You don’t have to say anything. Just...use them.”

Sasha hesitated. They weren’t even on the same side. The contract was never talked about between them, but it was there. Always there.

“Are you sure about this?” Sasha asked, not knowing why. How could he give them back if Steve changed his mind? Did Steve even realise the meaning of this gift? That he and his friends would not longer have that edge against Sasha? None of them would be able to drop him at a moment's notice. Steve was giving up all the power he held over Sasha, and that was singularly the strangest thing Sasha had ever experienced. In Steve’s place, he wasn’t sure he could allow himself to be this selfless, this good. It was a dark and horrible thought, but Sasha knew himself well enough to see the difference between them, see the light that followed Steve, where he was born to belong solely to the shadows.

Blue eyes went hard and Steve closed the lid on the box, then forced Sasha’s fingers around it as well.

“I don’t even know a fraction of what they did to you,” Steve said darkly. “What I _do_ know, is it never should have been done. You deserve better. Not just because I- because I care about you, because you’re a _person_ , Sasha. So, if you think it’s some sort of bias, don’t. Tony knows why I asked for them, and he made them anyway.”

“Tony Stark,” Sasha repeated, somehow even more floored than he had been previously.

“Yes,” Steve confirmed.

“Even after…”

“ _Yes_.”

Sasha wanted to put them in immediately, wanted to have Steve test the words right then and there. Not overthinking it, he did just that. Found the tiny on switch and popped a pair in.

Steve smiled at him, a strange expression momentarily flashing through his eyes, before it was chased away by sparkling happiness.

“Say the torture phrase,” Sasha demanded, excited.

The smile slipped off Steve’s face immediately and he grew even paler.

 

“Sasha…”

“Come on, do it. Let’s see what the things are worth,” Sasha demanded excitedly, an odd euphoria bubbling up in his chest.

Steve opened his mouth, closed it and opened it again. Then his face went blank, his shoulders snapping back once more. He looked like a man going to war for the first time. Sasha frowned, not understanding what was upsetting Steve so much.

“What?” Sasha demanded. “You know the end phrase anyway, so don’t dawdle. Come on, say it!”

Sasha bounced on his heels a little, too excited to stay still. In contrast, Steve’s face went even whiter. Why, Sasha hadn’t a fucking clue.

“If they don’t work, I will cause you _horrendous_ pain,” Steve said slowly.

Sasha frowned at that. He _knew_ that. He was the one who would suffer the fucking seizures after all. Why was Steve explaining it to _him_?

“So what?” Sasha asked, honestly baffled and not a little impatient.

 _If they don’t work_...

It suddenly occurred to Sasha that he hadn’t once thought this was some kind of trap. That when he asked Steve to say the words, he wasn’t putting his well-being, or Sai’s on the line. Even when they were made by someone who had every right to hate him, it was _Steve_ being cautious. Steve who was slowly steeling himself now, taking the box from Sasha’s hand and setting it on the table. Yet, he was still convinced if something went wrong, Steve would just reverse the phrase.

“ _Say it_ ,” Sasha growled, now a challenge.

One last hesitation, one long swallow, and Steve’s lips moved.

Sasha didn’t hear a single word, just an odd crackle.

The exaltation that burst through his chest was the most Sasha had felt _ever_. Gathering Steve in his arms, he whooped and spun the man in a circle. Though Steve laughed, he quickly protested Sasha’s use of his shoulder in such a manner. _That_ Sasha heard without any trouble. The modified hearing aids worked just as promised.

Footsteps tromped on the stairs and Sai poked his head down from the third floor.

“What’s the commotion?” he demanded, looking between Sasha and Steve expectantly.

“Sai, you gotta see this,” Sasha grinned, a warmth in his chest where there was normally anger. “Steve got me- Just,” he looked to Steve. “Say the other one.”

“Sasha-” Steve protested.

“Steve, _please_. I need to know for sure.”

Opening his mouth, Steve glanced at Sai and blew out a hard breath.

“It’s fine, okay? Don’t...panic.”

“Why would I panic?” Sai said slowly.

Steve was already saying the words.

“Stop!” Sai shouted, and Sasha heard _that_ , but not anything Steve said.

When Sai’s footsteps hurried down the stairs, he turned and caught the boy, hands on his shoulders.

“I’m okay,” he promised, still grinning. “Look, Sai, I’m okay. Steve gave me these,” he took the box off the desk, “and they prevent me from hearing the phrases. Both of them. It’s not _perfect_ , I mean, they could be knocked out, or run out of battery, but do you realize what this _means_?”

Sai stared, mouth open, before he did something more surprising than Sasha grabbing his shoulders. He hugged Sasha, as tight as his skinny arms would allow.

“Steve,” Sai demanded, “get over here.”

With a chuckle, Steve obeyed. Not only did he wrap them both in a hug, he maneuvered Sasha’s arms so he was properly hugging Sai. Until that moment, Sasha hadn’t realized he could be happier. In Steve’s arms, Sai holding onto him tightly, and knowing he was free from his own mind, Sasha found out he could.

\---

The dream was Steve’s usual fare. Not the train dream, thankfully, Steve _hated_ it the most of all his nightmares. This one was the plane. Schmidt disintegrating, the Tesseract melting through the floor, the realization that he wasn’t going to make it back to Peggy and not caring as much as he should have.

Except, when he got on the radio, it was Sasha’s voice that came to him. Sasha telling him he wasn’t allowed to do this. Then _Bucky_ pleading with him not to be so fuckin’ stupid. They switched back and forth, tag-teaming Steve while he tried so hard to find another way, to not put the plane in the ice. But there wasn’t another way. There wasn’t.

The only two men he had ever loved gave no quarter, demanding to know why he got to leave them behind. Demanding to know why he chose to fail them, chose to die, refused to save _them_. Leave them to be tortured by Hydra. The voices overlapped, Bucky’s Brooklyn accent and Sasha’s soft Russian one, until there weren’t two voices, just the one, accusing and pleading as the ice closed in on Steve again.

Steve woke gasping, shivering, and covered in sweat. Staring at the ceiling, he tried to get his bearings, tried to remind himself where he was, _when_ he was, and that he was safe like the S.H.I.E.L.D. psychologist had advised.

It didn’t help. It _never_ helped.

Lungs tight as though he still suffered from asthma, Steve knew he was fighting a losing battle against his own mind. His breathing was ragged, though he was forcing down the gasping breaths he wanted to take, not wanting to wake Sasha. The problem was, he could still hear them, Bucky and Sasha, shouting at him, _accusing_ him, and it tore at his heart. They had been right; he’d failed them both. Bucky when he didn’t make sure the Hydra agent _stayed down_ , then again when he didn’t catch him before he fell. Sasha, because he had sworn to put an end to Hydra, and look how that had turned out.

Carefully rolling to his feet, Steve made his way to the bathroom by the light from the streetlamps outside. Just as carefully, he shut the door, retreating to the far wall and sliding down it. He gave in to the panic then, to the grief, gasping into his arms that he wrapped around his knees. He wouldn’t cry, he _wouldn’t_ , he just needed a moment. Just one moment to pull himself together, when he wouldn’t have to monitor his breathing, or school his expression.

The click of the door opening indicated he hadn’t been as quiet as he’d wanted. Steve didn’t look up, though, his muscles tensed at being caught so vulnerable, so _weak_. It was just a fucking dream.

“Go back t’bed,” he pleaded, voice wavering more than he wanted, “‘M fine. Just...need a minute.”

“You’re not fine,” Sasha said firmly, “Fine is miles from where you are. Different continent, maybe.”

“It was just a dream,” Steve insisted, to himself, to Sasha, to them both. “I’m _fine_.”

“And the KGB is just being neighborly when they knock on your door,” Sasha said sarcastically.

“I’ve been told there’s no such thing as KGB these days,” Steve said shakily.

Sasha snorted.

“Only the modern and respectable FSB, right? And the fact that they employ exactly the same people as the previous agency. All hail the wonders of modernising a _public image_.”

Steve shuddered and hiccuped, trying to laugh, but it just wasn’t happening.

“They’ll get their own Facebook page soon.”

Sasha’s hand came to rest warm on his elbow, tugging until Steve pulled his arms from his head. Closing his eyes tightly, he let Sasha pull at him, manipulate him until he was tucked in the man’s strong arms, his head beneath Sasha’s chin. It was very much like after sex, when Steve was experiencing sub-drop. And like then, it made him shudder with a mix of relief and overwhelming emotion.

“You wanna tell me about the dream?” Sasha asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.

“No,” Steve said honestly. The arms about him tensed and he forced out, “It was the plane. Schmidt turned to ash, the Tesseract went with him and I...I radioed in to tell them I had to put it in the water and it wasn’t Peggy on the line, it was-”

Panic clutched at Steve’s chest, his breathing becoming ragged again as he heard echoes of the dream voices again. Jerking back, he struggled to try to get out of Sasha’s embrace, but the arms only tightened, holding on harder. Sasha didn’t let go, didn’t let Steve push him away until Steve gave up and slumped forward again.

“I can’t,” Steve pleaded brokenly against Sasha’s chest, “Please, I’m sorry, I tried, I did. It was supposed to be the end of it, the last base, the last plan. There wasn’t supposed to be anything left. No one was supposed to need me any more. I just wanted- I just wanted to be with him. I didn’t mean to be selfish, I just couldn’t do it any more and it was so much easier-”

“Do you still?” Sasha interrupted before Steve could say any more.

“N-no,” Steve answered, shaken as much by the question as his dream. He pressed his hands to Sasha’s chest, managed more firmly, “ _No_.”

“Then it doesn’t matter. You’re here with us now. You won’t leave us.”

Steve turned his face into Sasha’s throat, inhaled his scent and took a shaky breath.

“I’m so tired,” he confessed, “Every time I turn around, someone else needs me to be strong, be their compass and I just...I can’t, not all the time.”

“You don’t have to,” Sasha said, lips brushing Steve’s temple. “Not all the time. No one expects that.”

Laughing weakly, Steve shook his head.

“You’d be surprised.”

Sasha sighed.

“I don’t need you to be strong all the time. You have a bad dream, you break down in the bathroom, you get _tired_ , I’m not going to be disappointed. Hell, you can even lean on me.”

Steve swallowed, choking down the desire to ask if that meant Sasha was going to stay. Even he knew that was too much to ask. Either the assassin would stay, or he wouldn’t. Until then, Steve would be grateful for what he had.

“Think I already am,” Steve murmured. “Haven’t talked to anyone like this since Bucky.”

The metal hand smoothed down his spine, making him shiver from the unexpected coolness.

“Think you can make it back to bed?”

“If I can stay close.”

“I like it when you are,” Sasha admitted, pulling away and climbing to his feet. Taking Steve’s arm, he pulled him to his feet, easily, the way few people could manage. Tucking Steve against his side, Sasha led him back to the bedroom, pushing him onto the bed and climbing back in after. Before Steve could roll over, Sasha wrapped about him from behind, pulling his back tight to Sasha’s chest.

“Okay?” Sasha asked.

Steve let out a long sigh.

“Yeah. Very okay.”

Relaxing slowly, Steve closed his eyes and found sleep, normally so hard to do quickly when not exhausted, but it was right there waiting for him. Letting it steal over him, he prayed it would be as easy to let Sasha go when the time came. Deep down, he knew letting go would be akin to tearing off a limb. Easy was impossible, no matter what Sasha did.

\----

“He’s packing.”

Sai’s voice drew Sasha from the book he’d borrowed from Steve. The boy was standing in the doorway, watching him with an oddly blank look.

“Who?”

“Steve,” Sai repeated, “He’s packing.”

Yes, all right, that was weird. They had been staying with Steve for a week and the guy only went out for groceries, or to work on, of all things, a construction project down the street. Twice there had been trips to Stark Tower, but that was it. There was no reason for him to be packing.

“Did you ask why?”

“No. Don’t think he noticed me.”

That made sense, Steve was no longer was on edge around either of them. He didn’t make an effort to hear them walking around and sneaking up on him was fairly easy. It was a rather worrisome habit. It was also humbling, but not at the moment. At the moment, Sasha only felt panic.

Sitting forward, he demanded, “Why would he be packing?”

“Did you do something?” Sai returned accusingly.

Sasha slowly shook his head.

“I don’t think so.”

The boy gave no quarter.

“Go fix it. Make him stay.”

Pushing down his own panic, Sasha took a long look at Sai after hearing the order. The kid was scared. Since waking up in this house after the Hydra attacks, Sasha couldn’t help but notice the bond Sai had formed with Steve. Just the other day, he’d watched them sitting on the couch together. It was nothing, really, unless you knew Sai and that he would never sit with his feet in someone’s lap. Steve hadn’t minded, just worked on his crossword with an elbow braced against Sai’s shins to rest his pen.

At one point, Steve had pushed the paper beneath Sai’s nose, between the kid and his laptop, and pointed at one of the clues. Sai had squinted, said, “Macintosh,” and Steve smiled. Then he’d reached over and ruffled Sai’s hair. Affectionate, innocent, and though Sai had batted at his hand, he’d smiled, too.

“Okay,” Sasha said, putting down the book, “but I don’t even know what I did, or if I did anything.”

“Find out,” Sai ordered sharply. “Grovel, apologize; don’t let him go. We need him.”

Sasha wouldn’t say it, but he was worried Sai might be right.

Upstairs, Sasha found Steve putting socks and underwear in a duffle. Packing, just like Sai had warned. Why hadn’t he said anything? Did he just plan on running off?

“Why are you packing?” Sasha asked and was surprised by how worried he sounded.

Steve, having not heard him enter the room, jumped.

“God, I hate it when you two do that,” he said breathlessly, pressing a hand to his heart.

Sasha frowned because it wasn’t _their_ fault. Steve was the one who had stopped paying enough attention to the sounds they made in his home. Another time, he would have said as much, but Steve was now looking guiltily at his bag.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked.

“What?” Steve looked up sharply, “No! No, Sashka- Come here.”

Still frowning, Sasha crossed the room to take Steve’s outstretched hand. When he tugged, Sasha let himself be pulled into Steve’s arms. One wrapped about his back, holding him close, the other tilted his chin up so he could brush their lips together. For once, it didn’t make him feel any better.

“Where are you going?” Sasha pressed. “You weren’t going to tell us?”

Steve sighed.

“Damned spies,” he grumbled, “I _was_ going to, after breakfast. I need to go to D.C. It’s just for the day; I’ll be back tomorrow.”

The tension and panic drained from Sasha. Letting himself relax in Steve’s arms, he tucked his face against Steve’s neck.

“Why?”

Steve swallowed, and the panic returned. Looking up, he found blue eyes looking at the wall of pictures. Not at him, at the past that Sasha couldn’t remember.

“An old friend of mine is dying,” he said quietly, “I’ve put off seeing her for a while, for a lot of reasons, but I have to go.”

“Her?” Sasha repeated, licking his lips as the slow realization of who ‘her‘ referred to made his stomach clench with fear. He pointed at the picture of Peggy and Steve on the wall. “You mean, _her_?”

The memory came to him strong. A bar full of men in military uniforms. Steve by his side, staring down at a beautiful dame in a red dress with a deep v-neck. There wasn’t a prettier woman in the place and everyone knew it. Even Steve knew. Steve, who was giving her this small half-smile Bucky had never seen before. His stomach had dropped because he knew it then that Steve wasn’t his any more. He was in love and, from the looks of it, the dame felt the same way.

“Yes,” Steve said gently, “Peggy-”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Sasha growled, “Don’t say her name.”

“Hey, what-” Steve tilted his face up, “What’s gotten into you?”

“You loved her,” Sasha accused, suddenly fiercely angry. Something flickered in Steve’s eyes and his panic doubled. “You _love_ her.”

“ _Sasha_ ,” Steve said firmly, “please don’t. It’s not the same; what I have with you is nothing like what I _had_ with Peggy.”

“You’re in love with her,” he declared because he _remembered_ it.

“No,” Steve said sharply. “Not any more. Not for a long time.”

Sasha swallowed, realized he had to be hurting Steve with how hard he was holding onto the man’s waist. He didn’t let go; Steve didn’t complain.

“How is it different?” Sasha demanded.

“You really gonna make me do this?” Steve challenged.

Sasha nodded, sharply, because he needed to hear that his memory remained firmly in the past.

“Fine,” Steve’s hands smoothed down Sasha’s throat, over his shoulders, then wrapped around his back. “No one gets to me like you do; never has. I fall into you, Sasha, I fall and I don’t _want_ to try ‘n’ catch myself. There’s no second-guessing; no question that I want this, no matter what else it means. I will _fight_ for this, for you.” Steve’s blue eyes were intense, but the smile that was twitching at his lips was almost sad. “I never fought for her. I just...fell asleep.”

The ice; one of those things they don’t talk about, but Sasha knows it’s what Steve meant.

“You…”

Sasha doesn’t know what to say, but Steve offered mercy by not making him flounder for words.

“Will you be here when I get back? I,” Steve cleared his throat, looked away at the picture and back, “I’m no good when- After. She’s… It’s her memory. She doesn’t remember me half the time, and the other half she wants to talk about- About the Commandos because seeing me is confusing. Pulls her back then. If I know you’re here, though, I think I can…”

“Yeah, Stevie,” Sasha quickly assured, “I’ll be here.”

The smile Steve gave him wasn’t like sunshine, but it was still beautiful.

“All right, well, you’re kind of making it hard to breathe, so…”

Sasha quickly loosened his hold and Steve took a deep breath. Instead of staying there, though, Steve pulled away and zipped his bag closed.

“Since you know, I might as well get going. I can maybe catch an earlier train. Get back sooner…”

“Yeah,” Sasha said, because he had to say something.

Steve was halfway to the door when Sasha said, “Steve?”

Steve froze, turning so fast Sasha thought he _wanted_ to be called back. It was all he needed to see and he closed the distance a moment later, crushing their lips together. It was hard and rough, more teeth than tongue, but Sasha put everything he couldn’t say into the kiss. From the way Steve kissed him back, he thought he got the message across just fine.

When Sasha finally stopped, it was Steve’s turn to say, “Yeah,” like it meant something.

“Go,” Sasha urged. “Hurry home.”

Steve didn’t turn his back, watching Sasha the entire while, until he was in the hallway. Somehow, that made it easier to watch him leave.

The moment the front door shut, Sai was standing in the hall, looking in at what Sasha was coming to consider _their_ room. His and Steve’s.

“You didn’t stop him,” Sai accused.

“He’ll be back,” Sasha explained, “He’s...visiting a friend. She’s sick.”

Sai glanced down the stairs.

“Why didn’t he say anything?”

Sasha tossed his hands up.

“Apparently he was going to,” Sasha couldn’t help feeling baffled.

“Oh,” thankfully Sai looked as confused about the prospect of explaining oneself as Sasha felt. Other people were so strange sometimes.

Nodding, Sasha pushed his hand through his hair.

“You all right?” Sai asked.

“I think...Yeah,” Sasha said slowly. “I think I am.”

Sai walked into the room, glancing briefly at the photos on Steve’s wall before stopping in front of him.

“What are we doing about the contract?”

It was the first time they’d discussed the contract, the target, since Hydra had found them. The peace Sasha had gathered faded abruptly and he felt...hollow. It had to be done, though. The contract had been in place before Steve, before all of this, and it needed to be finished. Sasha _always_ finished his jobs.

“I said I would be here when he got back,” Sasha said, “but after…”

“Are you sure?” Sai said, his voice oddly calm. “We don’t have to. We _could_ just stay.”

Sasha couldn’t deny the urge he had to stay close to Steve, to _be_ close. Being here had left an unusual emotion growing in his chest. He liked the strange, warm feeling, but there was an older feeling - a harder, colder rage that burned like ice - just under his heart. There were plans in motion that spanned years, carefully-grown intrigues that were now starting to bear fruit. He was so close to achieving his goals, so close to ending it all.

As an individual, Sasha trusted Steve because he knew the man’s goals. He trusted that Steve would want to help people, save them, too. What he couldn’t be sure of was if Steve would agree was an adequate punishment for certain crimes. Then there was Steve’s work. As much as Sasha thought Steve would understand him, his actions, Sasha couldn’t trust the organization he worked for. Steve was deep in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s system, one of their best agents. There was no telling just how compromised Steve really was.

In hindsight, it wasn’t a surprise that Hydra had attacked him just when he had become closer to Steve. Hydra had not tried to outright hound him like that for years, simply because the cost-benefit analysis of such an action would be firmly in the red. The fact they pulled out all the stops this time, were even willing to expose themselves to the media, suggested that his vague suspicions were correct. There was a connection between Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D.

Was Steve unaware of it, or willfully blind? Or worse, did he believe in Hydra’s end game of ‘world peace’?

Sasha felt things for Steve he had never felt before, not for anybody, but he wasn’t going to risk what he had spent _years_ planning. Not because of feelings. He didn’t trust his emotions, didn’t trust his memories…

Sasha looked at Sai’s expectant face.

“We can’t stay,” Sasha said calm and unshakeable. “Not until it’s safe.”

Sai sighed, his shoulder drooping a little.

“And when precisely will that be? When _will_ it be safe?”

“When I say so,” Sasha growled, unwilling to reveal too much, even to Sai. If it all went south, he would be the only one to take the fall.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 17

There was only one reason it was good Steve was gone for so long, and that was it allowed Sai and Sasha to pick out and set up a new safe house. Since the others had all been burned, as had their home, they needed a new base of operations to start from once they left Steve’s home and got back to work. That didn’t mean either of them liked it. 

They were both short with each other, the normal work feeling like a betrayal. It was; Steve trusted them to be _home_ , not working against him. Sai blamed Sasha, and Sasha blamed himself. Though they were clearly agitated, neither spoke again of the job, of Steve, or staying. 

It was only when Sai’s cell phone pinged for the sixth time did Sasha call it quits. 

“When did you give Steve your number?” Sasha demanded, because there really wasn’t anyone else who would be talking to Sai so regularly. 

“When I realized he wouldn’t ever use it to track me,” Sai said evenly, darting a challenging look Sasha’s way. “Did you give him _your_ number?”

“No,” Sasha said shortly, hating how his chest suddenly felt tight, “Don’t give it to him.”

“I’m not stupid,” Sai snapped. “You’ve monopolized that commodity.”

_How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you._

Sasha gritted his teeth.

“Finish what you’re doing and we’re going home,” Sasha growled.

“It’s not home,” Sai snapped, his fingers a blur over the little screen, “It won’t ever be home.”

“Sai…”

The kid took a deep breath. 

“Sorry, I just… I like him. This is gonna hurt him and you know that. I… I can’t help but wonder if you’re right about this being worth it.”

“You’ve never questioned me before,” Sasha said slowly, because this was the second time in the span of hours.

“You never done something like this before!” Sai tossed his hands in the air, the text abandoned. “There’s only ever been me, and you hardly realized _that_. Now there’s Steve, and you _care about him_ , but you’re doing this anyway! How do I know you won’t-”

It took two steps to reach Sai, and Sasha pulled him into a hug like Steve had shown him.

“Never, Sai,” Sasha said firmly, “I will never betray you.”

Sai looked up at him miserably.

“This is going to hurt you more than you think it will.”

“Maybe,” Sasha sighed and let the kid go, “but it has to be done, and it might not end as badly as you think. Steve is… He might understand.”

Sai sighed.

“Then why aren’t we telling him in the first place?”

“Because,” Sasha made his voice hard, “it’s not safe. _Finish_ and we’ll-” He swallowed. “We’ll go back to Steve’s and wait for him to come home.”

They managed not to fight the rest of the day, even having a decent dinner together at the table Tony had sent over. When it had arrived, Sasha had wished _he_ had thought to replace it, but it was too late for that. 

The next day was quiet, both Sasha and Sai keeping to themselves in a house that felt oddly empty without its owner. When Steve finally got home, they were both so tense the mere sound of the key in the lock had them scrambling to the first floor before Steve had time to enter and shut the door behind him. The weary look on Steve’s face vanished as he laughed, taking the brief look of exhausted sadness with the sound.

“Missed me, huh?” he teased. 

Tossing his duffle carelessly beside the door, Steve held out a bag to Sai.

“What’s this?” Sai said suspiciously. 

“It won’t bite you,” Steve teased. “Go on.”

Sasha watched with amusement as it appeared Sai suffered from the same affliction he did, taking what Steve offered. Instead of letting Sasha see what Steve had gotten Sai, Steve stepped into Sasha's space and wrapped his arms around his waist. No hesitation, like he belonged there, and Sasha would welcome him. It was confidence he hadn’t had before, or, Sasha thought as Steve kissed him slowly, maybe just a need for comfort. Comfort Steve sought from _him_.

Wrapping his own arms around Steve, Sasha allowed him to keep the kiss gentle until Sai let out a squeak. Then his head snapped so fast, something twinged in the back. There was no danger, though, Sai was staring at a small box in his hands with wide eyes.

“Seriously?” the kid exclaimed. “I’ve wanted one of these since _forever_.”

“What?” Sasha asked with some amusement.

“A portable keyboard,” Sai gushed. “It connects with bluetooth to any device and uses lasers and motion-tracking capabilities to track your hand movements. It is so _cool_.”

Sasha looked to Steve curiously, taking in his pleased expression, and asked, “Where did _you_ learn about laser keyboards? Stark?”

“Sharon,” Steve corrected. He suddenly dropped several inches and Sasha blinked, trying to figure out how he’d done that, but then Steve’s head was on his shoulder and that was far more distracting. 

“Who is Sharon?” 

“She’s, ah,” Steve blew out a breath and Sasha understood.

“Co-worker.”

 

“Yeah.”

“Should I be worried?”

Steve just shot him a look, impressive considering the way his head was angled.

“So I don’t get anything?” Sasha teased, not wanting Steve to think he was jealous again.

“Uh, well, the other gift is _kind of_ for you… Round abouts, anyway.”

Steve was blushing, so Sasha looked to Sai who was now digging curiously into the bag again. He came up with a much larger box this time, frowned at it, then eyed both Sasha and Steve dubiously.

“Headphones?” he questioned.

Clearing his throat, Steve straightened back to his full height and Sasha really wished he hadn’t.

“Noise-canceling headphones,” he explained. “You know, in case... “

“Yeah,” Sai said shortly. Sasha saw him look at him, then back at Steve and sigh. “I’ll just go use these, shall I?”

“Do,” Sasha agreed.

“Hey now,” Steve protested, blushing even harder, “That was not the point in buying those.”

“Not what I just heard,” Sasha purred.

“He can _hear_ you,” Steve hissed, somehow turning white under that blush. 

“Least someone cares,” Sai grumbled, but his footsteps were already climbing the stairs. “Thanks, Steve.”

“You’re, ah, welcome,” Steve managed, his glare completely foiled by the blush. “Enjoy the keyboard.”

Sasha waited until Sai was a floor above them before lacing his fingers through Steve’s and pulling him up the stairs.

“Sasha,” Steve protested.

Ignoring him, Sasha pulled Steve straight to the bed, turned, and shoved him onto it. Steve bounced, glared, and went to stand again, so Sasha decided to play dirty. Grabbing Steve’s legs, he tossed them onto the bed, then leaned down and he pressed a slow kiss to Steve’s lips. That, finally, made him still. Smirking, he climbed in as well, wrapping Steve in his arms and then pulling Steve to his chest.

“Sasha,” Steve started to protest again.

“Did you forget already that you don’t have to be strong for me?” Sasha demanded. 

The hands against his chest trembled and the fight went right out of Steve. He curled forward, pressing his forehead against Sasha’s chest.

“That bad, huh?” Sasha asked quietly.

“She didn’t recognize me at first,” Steve said in a weak voice Sasha hadn’t heard before, “That wouldn't be so bad, you know? She’s still Peg-” He swallowed. “She’s still her, loves company, sharp as a tack except for the whole…memory thing. Then she...There’s no rhyme or reason to it, you know? Just one second she’ll be saying something, and the next it’s like she’s got a whole new set of memories. Like... Like waves on a shore, you just don’t know where they’ll stop, or how high they’ll be…”

Sasha gently rubbed Steve’s back, felt the tension slowly melt from his shoulders.

“Missed you,” Steve mumbled.

“Missed you, too,” Sasha admitted. “House isn’t the same without you.”

“Heard you two were fighting,” Steve said, and he must have felt Sasha tense because he chuckled. “I told him to give you a break.”

“Why?” Sasha asked, honestly baffled. At least that meant Steve didn’t know what they were fighting over.

Steve looked up at him and smiled. It was genuine, even if his eyes lacked their usual spark.

“Because you’re family. That’s what you do for family.”

“So what you’re really saying, is I should give him a break.”

Steve laughed, bringing the sparkle back to his eyes for a moment. Sasha had the odd thought that he wanted to keep it there, no matter what it took.

“Yes, I am saying _that_ as well,” Steve confirmed. 

The moment of levity was short lived. Steve sighed, running a hand down his face before burrowing back into Sasha’s chest. The earlier instinct had been right, Steve was looking to him for comfort even though _this_ was so far out of Sasha’s comfort zone, and had nothing to do with sex. It was daunting and…nice.

“What happened that’s got you so upset?” Sasha asked gently, hands still roaming Steve’s back.

Steve tensed again and Sasha dug his fingers into the knotted muscles. Groaning, he actually relaxed, so Sasha didn’t stop.

“She, ah, that feels _really_ good,” Steve mumbled.

“Don’t deflect,” Sasha said with a chuckle. “Talk to me.”

Sighing, Steve tipped his head up to nuzzle into his throat.

“She was halfway through a story about her husband.” Sasha blinked; husband? “And then she wasn’t- For her, it was 1941, and I’d just gotten back from rescuing the 107th, and she wanted to know if we could dance.”

The tension was back tenfold in Steve, and Sasha swallowed down his resentment, his fear.

“What’d you say?”

Like liquid, the tension melted away, and Sasha hated he had been right to think _he_ was the cause.

“Told her I had two left feet,” he sighed. “It’s not… The doctors say it’s best to humor her, not try to remind her of when she is. She said she wasn’t going to take that as an answer forever, and then asked- asked if I was going to go have a drink with Sar- With Bucky.”

“Oh,” Sasha said, feeling that pained rush in his skull when he heard Steve say that particular name.

“ _Oh_ ,” Steve agreed. “I said yeah, and it’s not a lie, you know. We had drinks that night-”

_You’re gonna keep the suit, right?_

“- and I can’t tell her what _happened_ to him. That I got ‘im killed, so-”

“Wait, what?” Sasha interrupted. “I thought you said he fell? Because that’s not your fault, Steve. You can’t save everyone.”

Steve tapped his head against Sasha’s chest and he almost wished he could take the question back with the way he suddenly radiated pain.

“He did fall,” Steve said tightly, “ _after_ he was knocked out of a train by a guy I didn’t put down. So he was _there_ because of me, he _fell_ ‘cause I didn’t catch ‘im, and he fuckin’ got knocked out of the goddamn train because I couldn’t- I didn’t just fuckin’ _kill_ the guy like I should’ve.”

“Steve-”

“Please,” Steve pleaded, “Please, no more. I just- It always hurts, Sashka. _Always_.” His breath caught, and Sasha tightened his arms. “I fucked up so bad and Peg wouldn’t stop talking about him. Him and the guys, who I was gonna pick for my squad. They’re just… They’re all gone. All of ‘em, and they’re tellin’ me she’s got only a time little left, too.”

“You’re not alone, Steve,” Sasha said fiercely, fighting down his dizziness. “You’ve got a new team and they seem...good…”

Steve laughed weakly and looked up at him to smile crookedly.

“Good, huh? Doesn’t sound like you mean it.”

Huffing, Sasha rolled his eyes.

“Iron Man is as annoying as a spoiled five-year-old. Romanov is good, very good, but she’s over-confident. Your Hulk is as much a liability as a weapon. Thor is not someone that can be counted on. Hawkeye-”

“Is as good a shot as you,” Steve challenged, eyes shining. 

Sasha snorted, but knew Steve could see he was pleased that his distraction worked.

“His weapon choice is lacking. Bows are no longer used by militaries for a reason.”

Leaning up, Steve brushed his lips against Sasha’s as he said, “And he’d still kick your ass.”

Sasha growled.

“As if.”

After a heartbeat of silence, Steve blinked and leaned back a bit.

“As if what?”

“Really?” Sasha rolled his eyes again. “You’re _ancient_.”

“Hawkeye isn’t the only one who can kick your ass,” Steve growled.

“You haven’t yet,” Sasha growled back.

Steve leaned in again and Sasha decided, if this was fighting, he liked it.

“You want me to?” 

“No,” Sasha dropped his voice to a purr, “I want you to _fuck_ me.”

Suddenly still, Steve stared at him with big, startled eyes.

“Yeah?” he asked, suddenly breathless.

Nodding, Sasha tilted his head so their lips pressed together in another slow kiss. Steve sighed, the soft contented one Sasha had learned to listen for. At first, he let Sasha lead, their hands roaming absently over each others clothes. It was slow, sweet, and surprisingly enjoyable to just lie there, Steve in his arms, making out like teenagers on a television show. 

Eventually, Steve caught on that _he_ was supposed to be leading, and the kiss changed. Became hungrier as Steve’s hands pushed under Sasha’s shirt, pulling it up until Sasha helped him pull it off. Steve’s shirt followed, the only time their lips parted, as the stripped down. It wasn’t frenzied, like Sasha had expected, or slow. It was steady, tempered, and neither of them was more vulnerable than the other for long. 

By the time they were both naked, they were both achingly hard. Sasha’s heart was trying to beat out of his chest, though, and something like fear was clawing at his stomach. It couldn’t be fear, though. Nothing scared him anymore.

Steve abruptly broke the kiss, wrapping a hand around their cocks and squeezing. 

As Sasha groaned, Steve asked, “How, ah, do you want to do this?”

Swallowing, Sasha stole a quick, hard kiss.

“It’s easier if I’m on my stomach.”

Steve nodded, gave them both another squeeze, and rolled to his knees. Instead of grabbing, he ran his hands down Sasha’s back to his hips, then gently rolled him over. The lack of roughness was disconcerting. It was even stranger when he carefully spread Sasha’s legs, kneeling between them, and brushed his lips down Sasha’s spine. Like this wasn’t about sex, necessarily.

The twisting, squirming feeling in Sasha’s gut intensified despite how much he was enjoying Steve’s attention. It was wonderful, he was aware of that. How gentle Steve was, how he’d kept them on an equal footing instead of taking control like Sasha always did. He was so hard, aching in ways he hadn’t expected, but still that sensation persisted. Distracting, tearing Sasha from what felt good, and reminding him of- 

_No_ , he wasn’t going to remember that now.

The top of the lube bottle popped and Sasha realized he hadn’t noticed Steve getting it. Another kiss was pressed to his back, just above the swell of his ass, and Steve’s finger brushed his entrance. Sasha tensed, but just as quickly forced himself to relax. The finger pressed in slowly, carefully, Steve’s other hand running up his back, and Sasha tried to focus on that, on the touch of _Steve’s_ hand on his skin. 

Except he could feel other hands, too. He shook his head, trying to focus on Steve, but it was crawling on him, crawling _in_ him and he just-

Steve abruptly stopped touching him. It was startling enough that it shocked Sasha back into the moment, out of his head. Hands pulled at his shoulder, his side, rolling him over, and he looked up into Steve’s worried face. Slowly, he eased himself down at Sasha’s side, pulling him into his arms.

“We don’t have to,” Steve said softly. “What you told me, at the museum… I’m not going to be upset if we never do this.”

Sasha let out a sharp, sudden bark. The sound might have been supposed to be a laugh but didn’t even come close. 

“You mean the rape?” Sasha’s voice went hard. “They did so much worse, Steve. That doesn’t even make a dent in the shit they put me through.”

“If that’s supposed to make a difference, I gotta tell you it doesn’t. They hurt you, Sashka, this way, _any_ way, it’s gonna leave a mark.”

“Look at me Steve, I’m so full of marks,“ Sasha said gesturing with his metal arm. “One more or one less would go unnoticed anyway.” 

“ _I notice_ ,” Steve said, a little sharply, his hand coming down to rest over the scars on his shoulder, “and- Jesus, you’re tense as a board. You’re not all right.”

“But,” Sasha said, reaching up to touch Steve, ignoring that he might be right and angry with himself for letting any hurt show, “I _want_ to.”

Steve snorted.

“I’m-” Sasha shuddered, trying to use words to express what he meant. It wasn't just him being stubborn or blind. He had worked hard to be the sole owner of his body, and while there were still traps scattered through his mind, even his body, it was mostly his. He fucked who he wanted and when he wanted, and nobody would tell him otherwise. Now he wanted Steve, and he wasn’t going to let this…weakness… stop him. “They can’t _have_ this, Steve. I want it, I want _you_. I’m fine.”

Steve frowned, and for a moment Sasha thought he was going to refuse. That thought was even worse than the crawling sensation. He wasn’t _broken_. He wasn’t _damaged_. Not like this, anyway. So, he was tense. That didn’t mean Steve should stop.

“You aren’t fine,” Steve said, then silenced Sasha’s protest with a raised eyebrow, “but you’re right.” He rolled them, ending between Sasha’s legs. “They don’t get this. I do, so…”

Steve kissed him again. It was brief, just a brush of lips, and Steve pulled back enough to demand, “Keep your eyes open. You’re here with me; not anywhere else.”

When Sasha opened his eyes, Steve smiled, holding his gaze as they kissed again. Letting out a shuddering breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, Sasha forced his muscles to relax one at a time. Only then did Steve’s hands move again, running down his arms, over his stomach. 

It was easier this time to maintain focus when Sasha could see Steve, could know without a doubt there was no one else there. The crawling sensation didn’t stop, not completely, but it eased away, steadily, surely, as Steve’s hands and lips kept him grounded. 

Fingertips ghosted up his shaft and Sasha was surprised to find he was still so hard, aching with it. Like the tension, he hadn’t noticed.

“Still with me?” Steve asked against his lips.

“Yeah,” Sasha panted, more breathless by that single touch than he thought he’d be. “Getting impatient.”

Steve chuckled.

“Of course you are.”

Trailing his lips down Sasha’s jaw, Steve pressed kisses against his throat, making shivers race down Sasha’s spine. When hands pressed against his thighs, he spread his legs easily, though Steve’s head lifted when his breath caught. 

“If you ask me if I’m okay every time-”

“You gotta talk to me,” Steve interrupted, eyes such a vivid blue. “I’m not doing this _to_ you, we’re doin’ it together.”

“Sap,” Sasha panted, a fond accusation. “Okay. If I- Okay.”

Steve flashed him a winning smile and slid down Sasha’s chest, leaving kisses on Sasha’s skin in his wake. It became no easier to breathe when Steve stopped between his legs, looked up at Sasha from beneath those long lashes, and licked him so _slowly_. His tongue pressed flat, hard against his shaft, traveling from root to tip. That tongue swirled about the head and Sasha didn’t even notice Steve’s fingers against his hole until one carefully began to push inside him again.

“Fuck,” Sasha swore.

Those lines at the edges of Steve’s eyes crinkled up, blue gaze sparkling up at him. Still using only his tongue, he licked back down to nuzzle into the curling hair surrounding the base of Sasha’s cock. He kept going, lower, mouthing at Sasha’s balls, as his finger slipped deeper inside. When Sasha leaned up on his elbows to better see him, Steve took a ball in his mouth and sucked.

Sasha groaned, reaching down with his flesh hand and rested it on Steve’s head. The single finger was still working slowly inside him, just inching in, and couldn’t Steve hurry up?

“Add another,” Sasha grunted.

Rolling his eyes, Steve switched to sucking on Sasha’s other ball and completely ignored him.

Tugging at Steve’s hair, Sasha demanded again, “Another.”

Now Steve grunted, twisted the finger inside Sasha, and _smirked_ when he lost hold of the short blonde strands. 

“Bastard,” Sasha cursed.

Completely unrepentant, Steve pulled away to lick Sasha’s shaft again. 

“Learned from the best.”

Pulling his legs wider apart, Sasha arched his hips up and sighed as Steve at least began moving his finger faster. The crawling sensation, he realized, was gone. There was an odd feeling left behind, but it was always there when he thought about _them_. What they’d made him do. When he focused on it now, he found that was where the crawling was coming from as it returned as quick as it had vanished.

Sharp teeth bit down on his thigh and Sasha gasped, snapping his gaze to Steve who ran his tongue over the mark now fading on his thigh.

“With me?” Steve asked.

“Yeah,” Sasha sighed, both relieved and surprised at how effective that had been, “With you.”

“Gonna try two, now,” Steve told him and Sasha blinked. Sure enough, the finger inside him was moving easily, twisting and -

“ _Oh_.” 

Sasha swallowed hard as it passed over his prostate. Taking that as permission, Steve pushed another slick digit past his loosening rim. Groaning, Sasha pushed down onto both, enjoying the slow stretch. Steve was working him easily, mouth roaming between Sasha’s thighs to his groin and back. Teasing, but also distracting, keeping Sasha’s mind on more than just the fingers pushing inside him. Steve kept his eyes on Sasha, watching him so intensely to be almost disconcerting. If there wasn’t so much lust in that blue gaze, Sasha thought it would have been uncomfortable. 

“Faster,” Sasha panted once Steve’s fingers were twisting, scissoring, easing him open little by little. “More.”

“So demanding,” Steve muttered, but this time he did as requested. The fingers pressed in harder, focused on that bundle of nerves that made Sasha’s back arch with pleasure. When Sasha pushed down, they went in _deeper_ and it was so good. 

“Another,” Sasha grunted.

“Not yet,” Steve said simply.

“Since when do you not listen to me?” Sasha growled.

Steve smirked.

“Since I gained the ability to do _this_.”

On the last word, Steve drove his fingers hard and fast into Sasha’s prostate. Gasping, Sasha flailed for a handhold on the bed, ending up with his metal arm latched to the headboard and the flesh one on the coverlet. Steve, the bastard, hummed in satisfaction, didn’t stop, just leaned up to lick at the head of Sasha’s cock in that slow, careful way that was starting to drive him crazy. The pleasure crashed through him, stronger than he remembered it being. It wrapped about him, held him tight, and eased back only when Steve slowly withdrew his fingers.

“No, no, don’t stop,” Sasha pleaded. To his own ears, his voice was surprisingly needy. “Please, Steve…”

“Shh, Sashka,” Steve murmured, “Just adding that third.”

Sure enough, three fingers pressed against his rim and slowly slid inside. Again, Sasha arched, back coming off the bed and it was so _easy_. There was no pain, no burning ache like he’d expected. Logically, he knew Steve wouldn’t hurt him, but his body _expected_ the pain. Expected the burn. When it didn’t come, when the fingers just sank slowly but surely inside him, leaving him feeling nothing but full, it was as overwhelming as the crawling sensation had been.

_This_ was what they’d taken from him.

“Steve,” Sasha gasped, and the man went utterly still. Then the next moment, Steve twisted, shifting so his fingers were still inside Sasha, but he was hovering over him.

“‘M here,” Steve murmured, lips brushing Sasha’s, his cheeks, his forehead, over his eyes. “I’m here. You’re shaking, sugar; you want me to stop?”

“No,” Sasha said firmly, though he realized Steve was right. He was shaking; hadn’t even noticed. “Don’t. Just...Wait.”

It wasn’t even the shaking that made Sasha realise he needed Steve to stop, to give him space to breathe. He realised what that tightness in his chest was, that odd shivering in his limbs. It wasn’t weakness, it wasn’t paralysing fear. 

It was violence.

If Steve touched him now, pushed that line even a little bit further, Sasha would cease to be. He would be replaced by the Winter Soldier and _that_ man was good only for one thing. More than he hated the memories, Sasha hated the thought of Steve meeting the Fist of Hydra face to face. There was no way Steve would survive that encounter unharmed, let alone alive.

“Okay,” Steve promised, “Long as you need.”

It turned out not to be that long. Just knowing that Steve would stop seemed to be enough for Sasha’s body, for the mindless instinct to destroy, so deliberately installed in him by Hydra, to fade. For his _mind_ , however, this entire situation was so stupid. There was no reason for this, no reason to be so upset. This was Steve. The man would probably die before letting himself hurt Sasha.

“Okay,” Sasha finally said, letting out a long exhale, feeling the ants under his skin recede.

Steve didn’t move, just twitched his fingers and Sasha’s gasped. 

“More,” he demanded and Steve kissed him, hard. It wasn’t the sweet, gentle kisses of earlier. This was all passion, fire, desire. Sasha responded in kind, staring deep into Steve’s eyes as he held the awkward, twisted position and thrust his fingers slowly into Sasha again. Sasha’s body reacted like it had been shocked, jerking as he moaned, lifting his hands to grasp Steve’s shoulders. When he pushed in again, Sasha pushed down, shuddering, letting out yet another moan as Steve angled his fingers just right. He wasn’t a sniper, but the man knew how to hit his target.

When it was too hard to breathe, Sasha broke the kiss, but he held onto Steve’s shoulders. There was so much power in that frame above him, so much life, it almost hurt Sasha. He couldn’t remember ever being this close to somebody this powerful and not fighting them. Steve smelled like musk and sex now, his skin was gradually beading with sweat. As much as Steve kept in control, he was as affected as Sasha. 

The fingers were thrusting faster now, spreading him open, and he tossed his head as the sensation just kept getting stronger, building up. 

Fingers closed on his jaw, turning Sasha’s face back so he was looking into Steve’s face again. Sasha gasped, realizing then his chest was tight, too tight. 

“With me?” Steve asked and his voice was lower than Sasha had heard it.

“Trying,” Sasha admitted, and felt weak for it, for how much of his body and his mind still belonged to Hydra, and how little he actually had for himself. Still, he _wanted_ Steve. He wanted him so damn badly it wasn’t even funny. Even this, what they were doing was ridiculous. Sasha had never had the urge to bottom for anyone, not a single thought of it ever crossed his mind, yet the moment he’d seen Steve naked, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. How it would feel to be spread out under that incredibly powerful body, have it pressing him down into the bed, have Steve bend him in half and just fuck him until he was a mess of want. He wanted to feel Steve inside him, wanted Steve’s hands on his hips, wanted to smell his sweat as he strained against him.

Steve just kissed him, didn’t stop fingering him, then pressed their foreheads together.

“Any idea how badly I want you right now?” he said. 

Sasha’s focus latched onto that, onto those blue eyes, and he shook his head, stared as Steve licked his lips.

“Not a whole lot, considering you are not, ah, getting on with it,” Sasha said, his voice sounding wrecked and gravely, as if he’d spent hours shouting.

Steve snorted, his lips curling up.

“You’re so tight on my fingers and you keep clenching down. Think I get why you keep going on about the sounds I make.” Steve was still smiling but his voice sounded just as wrecked as Sasha’s. He glanced at Sasha’s lips. “Never heard you moan like this, sugar. Feels good, huh? When I do this?”

Because he was still a bastard, Steve increased his pace then, pushing his fingers against Sasha’s prostate so that the pads rubbed over it again and again.

“Yeah,” Sasha gasped, “God, yeah. Want you to fuck me, Stevie. Want you inside me, f-filling me. Fuck, Steve, your _cock_ , I can’t stop thinking about it,” Sasha admitted in a rush.

“Christ, you have a mouth on you,” Steve laughed hoarsely. “And you know it, don’t you? Know how much I love the filthy things you say to me.”

“Like watching you come undone,” Sasha answered, although he was the one coming undone at the moment. He couldn't help twisting, undulating on Steve’s fingers. “Think I could get you to come with one touch if I talked to you enough. If I-”

The words failed him, faded as Steve’s eyes darkened and he began really thrusting his fingers into Sasha. Squeezing down hard on Steve’s shoulders, he bit back a cry and shoved himself down. It was so good, so full, and yet not enough. Not _nearly_ enough.

“Fuck me,” Sasha demanded. “C’mon, Steve, _fuck me_.”

Steve groaned.

“No.”

“Wh-what do you mean, _no_?” Sasha demanded, digging his fingers into Steve’s shoulders. His metal fingers.

“I mean, not yet,” Steve answered, then stole Sasha’s breath by bending down and running his tongue along the scars on his shoulder. He didn’t stop there, though, and Sasha clung to him as he tongued the metal itself. The plates shuttered, clicking and readjusting, becoming smaller, so much smaller. And suddenly becoming blindingly sensitive, punching the breath right out of him and almost whiting out his vision. Sasha knew how to deal with pain, how to breathe through shock. He _didn’t_ know how to deal with this.

“Steve!” Sasha shouted, arching into his mouth, onto his fingers. “What the hell did you just do?”

Steve sat up, but his gaze, so dark and full of pure unadulterated lust, stayed on Sasha’s arm. 

“I- I won’t do it again, if you don’t want,” Steve said in lieu of an answer. “I just- It’s so-”

Groaning, Steve leaned down again and ran his tongue over the many, tiny plates now shivering on Sasha’s arm like dragonskin. The fingers inside Sasha pushed _deeper_ and Sasha shouted, gripping the back of Steve’s head and holding him down. He didn’t have the breath to tell Steve not to stop, but got his point across well enough as Steve _didn’t_. He licked, moaning like _he_ was the one having three fingers fucking his prostate. Like it was _his_ arm that had suddenly grown hypersensitive, sending nothing but pleasurable feedback from the way Steve’s tongue worshiped it. 

Suddenly pulling his fingers free, Steve shifted to settle between Sasha’s legs. Mind now fuzzy with pleasure, Sasha whined and locked his thighs around Steve’s hips as Steve pulled even his mouth away from his body. He slicked up his cock as best he could with Sasha’s legs wrapped around him already. The head of Steve’s cock pressed against his entrance, pressure against a hole too small to easily accept it. He was ready, yes, but his body rebelled at the thought of that monster fitting inside. Breathing shakily, Sasha tried to make himself relax, tried to force his muscles into submission. Steve just kept pushing, slowly, adding more and more pressure. Sasha thought he was saying something, _asking_ something, but the clawing, crawling, feeling was back. There were ants suddenly milling under his skin and Steve’s body, that golden, amazing body was nothing but a threat suddenly. Was too powerful, too strong, too close... He gasped at the sensation.

The head breached his rim and Sasha panicked. When the roaring in his ears stopped, his metal hand was wrapped tightly about Steve’s throat. He wasn’t squeezing, and Steve wasn’t moving, though his fingers were slowly running up and down the metal arm. Their passage made it shiver; the tiny metal plates reacted almost like skin. The head was still buried inside him, making Sasha’s body pulse and his heart hammer in his chest. He was horribly aware of the weight of it inside him.

“You’re okay,” he heard Steve say so soothingly as though Sasha wasn’t about to choke the life out of him. “It’s okay. You with me now, sugar?”

Sasha nodded, but didn’t let go. Couldn’t, though he knew he should. There was too much power, too much _threat_ in that powerful body. What was he thinking letting Steve this close? Was he completely insane? But Steve’s cock was inside him, heavy and thick and there. Not hurting him, just...there.

Strangely, Steve smiled.

“Want me to stop?”

This time Sasha shook his head and Steve nodded.

“Okay.” He covered Sasha’s metal fingers with his own, but didn’t try to pull them away. No, he held them there, leaning forward, and Sasha moved with him, could feel his steady heartbeat beneath the small, sensitive plates, and how it was somehow still steady. Unafraid, even with his life literally in Sasha’s hand. 

It struck Sasha again, the realization that Steve was an _idiot_.

“Steve,” Sasha pleaded, but he couldn’t say what for. The man was clearly insane, damaged. “Steve…”

“Shh, sugar,” Steve murmured, not moving any further inside Sasha but holding himself on one arm over him so their lips brushed. “I’m here. I’ve got you, you’re okay.” The fingers on Sasha’s caressed the back of his hand, “You’ve got me. You’re safe.”

Shuddering, Sasha nodded. “Move now.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, amused.

“You sure?”

Shifting, Sasha pulled his knees up and wrapped his legs around Steve’s back again. Then he _pulled_ , forcing Steve deeper inside him. They both gasped, Steve’s eyes closing tightly as his head sagged forward. It felt like only Sasha’s hand on his throat kept him up. It was overwhelming, that level of trust, than Steve’s cock sinking inside him.

“Steve,” Sasha whimpered.

“It’s okay,” Steve choked out, shuddering. “It’s- God, you’re fucking incredible.”

Sasha laughed, though it came out far more high-pitched than he expected. 

“How did I forget you haven’t done this before?”

“Oh, _now_ he believes me,” Steve grumbled, but couldn’t possibly be upset because he began pulling out slowly. When he was nearly fully out, the feel of Steve’s thick cock dragging over his insides as it pulled out, he tightened the grip of his legs and pulled Steve back in. They both shuddered, gasping, and Sasha suddenly realized they were far closer to orgasm than they should be.

“You’re a menace,” Steve declared, but when he pulled out this time, his hips snapped forward again before Sasha could make him thrust back in. “Stop…micromanaging…everything.”

“Faster,” Sasha growled out. “Deeper. I need it, you hear me? Give it to me!”

Steve gulped, shuddering again, but just retreated with that same slowness and snapped his hips forward again. 

“No,” he gasped, forehead beaded with sweat. “You remember when you wouldn’t give me that coffee?”

“You didn’t want the fucking coffee!” Sasha snarled, but the effect was rather lost being so breathless and clenching his thighs around Steve so desperately. Every time Steve backed out even an inch, Sasha pulled him back in.

Steve grunted, repeating his slow pull out, fast thrust in.

“Not the point.”

“What’s the- _oh_!”

Smirking, Steve shifted his hips. When he moved again, his cock dragged over Sasha’s prostate. Lifting his flesh hand, Sasha clutched at Steve’s shoulder, squeezing hard and shuddering. Sasha’s nails dug into Steve’s skin and Steve groaned, eyes fluttering, but he still didn’t move faster. 

“Stevie, please, faster,” Sasha pleaded, “Need you to-”

“No,” Steve groaned.

“Why?!” Sasha shouted with frustration.

“Because,” Steve thrust in hard and started slowly pulling out again, “it’s not what you want.”

“It- What?” 

Sasha squeezed his shoulder harder, but was only barely holding onto his throat now. It was too much to pull it away entirely, but holding on…was grounding in ways nothing else had been.

Leaning down, Steve brushed their lips together.

“I didn’t stutter,” Steve murmured, and when the hell had he stopped being a marshmallow? “You want me to stop?”

“ _No_!”

His hips snapped forward and Sasha shuddered violently.

“No,” Sasha repeated, “No, don’t stop. Don’t. Your fuckin’ cock is so incredible. Don’t you dare stop.”

“Stop tellin’ me what to do,” Steve growled.

“You like it when I tell you what to do!” Sasha protested, gasping and _god_ it felt so good when Steve thrust in again.

Letting out a little growl, Steve ducked his chin down, nosed under Sasha’s hand and ran his tongue over Sasha’s palm.

“Oh fuck,” Sasha swore, nearly pulling his hand away completely before Steve’s tightened on his wrist. Steve kept licking, exploring every finger, every ridge, and kept up that slow pull out, hard, fast thrust in. Sasha lost the ability to speak, to do anything but feel as Steve pulled him apart. Pulled him apart and held him together with a hand on his wrist and another on his hip. There was nothing else. Just Steve, his cock, his hands, and his tongue. 

Steve rode Sasha up, took him just over that edge without another thought. Choking out a cry, Sasha arched off the bed, fingernails scratching gouges into Steve’s back. Sasha was falling apart, the tension cresting but not breaking. His cock was spurting come between their bellies and Steve was gasping, grunting as he slowed down but still kept fucking him. This time it was Sasha who whined, his body clenching and unclenching around Steve’s cock, fluttering around it. The sensations were almost too much. Steve kept fucking him slowly, keeping him on that edge, making it impossible to come down from the high.

“Steve,” Sasha gasped, arching under him, twisting, unsure of what he even wanted. “Steve, what…?”

Steve groaned into his skin, shifting to gain more leverage and thrusting back in hard enough to move Sasha’s whole body up the bed. They both gasped. Sasha felt over-sensitive now, hyper-aware of the cock inside him, of the stretch, the invasion of it, of how his body molded to it.

“You told me,” Steve gasped, eyes screwed shut, face a picture of painful concentration, “You told me you wanted to be fucked hard.” Steve was gasping with every slow push in, skin slick from sweat. “So I will,” another shuddering exhale, “Was only...giving you a minute, first.”

Steve shifted, spreading his knees, making Sasha spread his legs more as they were still wrapped around Steve’s thighs. He leaned forward to grab the headboard in both hands, arching over Sasha, almost bending his body in half. Sasha moaned helplessly, staring at all that skin and muscle, all that power over him.

Then Steve closed his hands on the headboard and _moved_.

Sasha couldn’t even make a sound, all he could do was just hold on. His flesh hand dug deep furrows into Steve’s shoulder, the metal one still closed firmly over Steve’s throat as Steve just fucking went to town. His hips were pistoning in and out of Sasha so hard now, that Sasha was crying out, overwhelmed and almost insensate. Steve was just stuffing his cock inside him, ruthless, and wild, and wonderful. The tension that had never faded away was ratcheting up again, fast and hard, spilling heat over Sasha’s skin like boiling water. And he couldn’t stand it any more. He made a sharp, wordless sound and came again, his balls and cock spasming so hard it hurt.

Steve sobbed in what looked like relief, his body tensing even more. The cock inside Sasha became even harder before it jerked and spilled into him, filling him with hot come. Sasha could feel it, could feel _everything_. Steve was gasping and falling onto his body in slow motion. His softening cock slipped out of Sasha with a rush of lube and come when Steve collapsed onto his chest. He smelled like sex and sweat.

“Holy Christ,” Sasha gasped.

Steve chuckled.

“Yeah?”

Sasha realized his hand was still wrapped around Steve’s throat. Gently, he ran his thumb over his pulse point and felt Steve shiver. That made Sasha pause; he wasn’t about to drop again, was he?

“You all right?” Sasha asked.

“Think that’s my line,” Steve muttered, slowly forcing himself onto his hands and then rolling, sliding onto his side. Somehow, he fit himself inside Sasha’s arms, snuggling into his chest. It was such a contrast to the man who had fucked him like a beast just moments ago. Sasha couldn’t stop himself from smiling, pulling Steve closer with the flesh arm behind his back and making his now-exhausted body roll over so they were face to face.

Slowly, Steve wrapped his hand around Sasha’s metal fist, his thumb brushing his wrist. The metal plates shivered again, like Steve’s touch was a magnet. It was fascinating; the arm had never done that before.

“I’m…better than alright,” Sasha admitted slowly. “That was…”

Sasha trailed off, again unable to express himself in words, but Steve didn’t seem to need him to finish. He smiled, eyes closing with that soft, short sigh.

“You’re insane, you know that?” Sasha huffed. 

“You’re the one who hasn’t let go of my throat,” Steve pointed out. “So, at least I’m in good company.”

“Damaged,” Sasha growled.

Steve shifted, looking up, his eyes flashing.

Irritation suffused his voice as he said, “What is wrong with you and Natasha, huh? There’s nothing _damaged_ about trusting people. It’s kind of the other way around. I get it, honest, I do, but you two need to just...stop. I’m happy, you seem to be, or did you _want_ me to freak out when you touch me?”

“If you get grumpy every time you fuck me, we’re not doing this again,” Sasha snapped.

Steve huffed, then smiled and nuzzled back into his side.

“Just shut up and get used to someone trusting you. Natasha managed to, or,” one blue eye looked up at him, “can you not handle something she did?”

Sasha growled and Steve smirked, having played him perfectly.

“Fine,” Sasha sighed exaggeratedly, “I’ll get used to it.”

“Damn straight,” Steve muttered.

Sasha just shook his head. God save him from innocents.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 18

Steve raised an eyebrow as Tony handed him a beer. They were in his penthouse, Natasha and Sam having arrived before Steve. Sasha hadn’t been upset he was leaving for Tony’s, but he certainly had made an effort to distract him. If he hadn’t promised Tony he’d come by, Steve probably would still be at home, letting Sasha wrap himself around him.

“Really?” he said. “You know I can’t get drunk, right?”

“That’s not the point,” Tony shrugged. “Don’t be a Debbie Downer; drink with us.”

Snorting, Steve twisted off the cap as Tony turned to him with a bottle opener.

“Right, super strength to go with that metabolism,” he said, flipping the bottle opener so it slapped into his palm.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a genius, Stark?” Sam teased, coming over to slap Steve’s hand and pull him into a half hug. “Been ages; how you been, Cap?”

“Complicated,” Steve shrugged, but smiled. He missed Sam being as close as he’d been during his brief stay in D.C. when he'd thought Peggy needed him. “Hopefully we can catch up before you go back in a few days.”

“Hopefully,” Sam moved to the side as Tony motioned for them to follow and led the way to the couches. “I hear you guys caught some interesting intel lately.”

“Natasha filled you in?” Steve asked, a little surprised, but not displeased. Sam was one of the best guys Steve had ever known.

Sam nodded.

“About your Hydra files on S.H.I.E.L.D. tech? Yep. Little hard to believe an old Nazi organization is hiding out alive and well in today’s big, protect the world organization. But she and Tony make a pretty convincing argument that I can’t rule it out.”

“Too dangerous to just ignore the implications,” Steve agreed. “Can’t be sure until we find proof.”

“It’s an interesting theory, anyways,” Sam shrugged.

“That’s not what I’d call interesting,” Natasha corrected. “More like highly disturbing.”

“Where’s Clint?” Steve asked, not actually wanting to talk shop, though he knew it was inevitable.

“Great question, Cap,” Tony said, pouring himself what was, hopefully, his first bourbon. “He’s been assigned a mission in Afghanistan. Very urgent, hush-hush stuff.”

Steve frowned and not because shop-talk was unavoidable. 

“So he asked the wrong person the wrong question.”

“That’s our guess,” Natasha agreed.

“Any pressure coming down on you, Cap?” Tony asked.

Steve smirked.

“Me? I’m just the muscle.”

“They really fall for that?” Sam asked incredulously.

Steve shrugged.

“Everyone except for Fury.”

“He’s too quiet,” Natasha explained, “so they see big dumb jock instead of the guy quietly planning your defeat. I, however, am always a suspect. I’m getting a lot of heat about the lack of progress finding the Winter Soldier. They’re threatening to assign other agents to the case. The only one stopping them is the Ambassador.”

“He’s still in France, right?” Steve checked. “He didn’t like us sending him off like that.”

“He’s alive,” Natasha shrugged. “What’s to complain about?”

“Oh, I don’t know, someone hiring a world-class assassin to kill him?” Tony suggested.

Steve chuckled.

“Did he just laugh at my joke?” Tony pointed at Sam and Natasha. “You’re witnesses. Cap laughed at my joke.”

“It’s not you, Tony,” Steve assured, smirking at his friend, “It’s the euphoria. What was it you said to me? I have a healthy sex life now. Every night, at least twice.”

“Ew, okay, didn’t need to know that,” Tony made a face. 

“What?” Steve said straight faced. “I thought you’d be happy he’s-”

Tony jammed his fingers in his ears.

“La la la! Not listening!”

Everyone except Tony laughed. 

“So, who’s the lucky guy, Steve?” Sam asked. “You didn’t tell me about this.”

“Ah, well,” Steve took a sip of the rather useless beer, “It’s complicated.”

“Steve is screwing our world-class assassin,” Natasha said, smirking as she sat back just enough that when Sam spit out his beer it missed her entirely.

“What?” Sam gave Steve a hard look. “ _No_. Seriously?”

“He’s...not so bad,” Steve shrugged.

“Not so bad? Steve,” Sam looked to Natasha. “You did try to talk some sense into him, right?”

“Tried and failed,” Natasha confirmed.

“Hate to be the voice of reason on this particular topic,” Tony interjected, “But Sasha has been good for our old man.” He dropped on to the arm of the couch next to Steve and pinched his cheek. “Look at how happy he is!”

Steve swatted at him.

“You just want me to laugh at your jokes again.”

Tony sighed.

“When did I become so transparent?” 

“You always were,” Natasha and Steve said together.

“Whatever, Wonder Twins,” Tony waved a hand at them. “I believe we were busy discussing Steve’s love life. He still staying with you?”

Steve nodded slowly.

“For now.”

“Steve, man,” Sam shook his head, “You know I love you, but this just sounds like you’re setting yourself up for heartbreak.”

“He knows,” Natasha said before Steve had to defend himself. “Tony is...not wrong about Sasha, though.” She looked pointedly at Sam. “Steve saw Peggy yesterday.”

“ _Yesterday_?” Sam repeated skeptically, giving Steve a long look. “But he doesn’t have that kicked puppy look.”

“You both know I’m _right_ here,” Steve said irritably.

Tony clapped him on the shoulder.

“See how it feels?”

Steve laughed and Tony fist pumped his victory, making everyone roll their eyes.

“You know, I did laugh at your jokes before Sasha,” Steve protested. 

“Not the point,” Tony insisted. “All right, so in honor of the centenarian _finally_ getting laid-

“Hey!” Steve protested.

“- I decided we will watch the classic comedy, _American Pie_.”

Sam groaned and Natasha gave Tony the stink eye. 

“Really?” Natasha demanded.

“Don’t say you don’t wanna see how Cap reacts to that apple pie scene.”

Sam winced.

“Oh god, this is going to be a train wreck.”

“Apple pie scene?” Steve repeated.

“No!” Tony waved his hands. “No spoilers! This tower is a spoiler free zone!”

“This is a terrible idea,” Sam insisted. ”Why don’t we watch something we will actually _enjoy_.”

“No,” Tony shook his head, “Steve said I get to pick, and I pick _American Pie_. Besides, Red, I earned it with that lead you’re still tracking down.”

“Lead?” Steve asked, if for no other reason to make them stop talking around him.

Tony nodded, grabbing a chip from the table and crunching down.

“Yeah, found some sketchy numbers in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s finances, and our Spy Queen is tracking them down. Seems Fury isn’t getting all his funding from government sources. That’s not really a surprise, the military always makes what they can on patents sold to civilian companies, but this is different. Can’t actually find where it’s coming from.”

“ _You_ can’t find where it’s coming from?” Sam repeated skeptically.

“Yeah,” Tony looked away, hiding his agitation, “Whoever hid the trail is good.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean ties to Hydra,” Steve pointed out. 

“It doesn’t point away from Hydra, either,” Natasha argued. “It’s a lead and I’m working on it. Maybe it will come to nothing, but we’ve exhausted the rest of our resources, Steve. If Hydra is hiding in S.H.I.E.L.D. - and you made a very convincing argument that they are - they’re doing it very well.”

Steve nodded slowly, peeling the label from his beer.

“What are you gonna do if the lead doesn’t pan out?” Sam asked.

Sighing, Steve lifted the bottle to his lips.

“Go to Fury,” he said and drank.

“Which is not our favorite plan,” Tony stated, “Seeing as, if Hydra _is_ in S.H.I.E.L.D., what are the chances the _director_ of S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t know about it?”

“Seems slim,” Sam agreed.

“Fury’s not Hydra,” Natasha insisted. When both Tony and Steve looked at her, she sighed, “ _But_ I’ve agreed to exhaust all other avenues before we talk to him.”

“Sorry, Nat,” Steve said.

“No you’re not, Rogers,” Natasha said without heat.

Steve smiled weakly.

“I’m sorry it’s too risky.”

“Uh huh,” Natasha sipped from her whiskey, “Tony, put on the movie. Make ‘im suffer.”

“Seriously?” Sam groaned. “Why you gotta piss the lady off, Steve?”

“Buck up, birdboy,” Tony grinned. “JARVIS? Cue the movie.”

The lights dimmed, the screen projecting itself right into the air. Steve leaned back, looking at Sam who saluted him with his beer. It would be interesting to see how far in they got before Tony realized Steve had seen the film; when they’d both lived in D.C., Sam had also thought Steve’s reaction to the ‘apple pie’ scene would be priceless.

___

Steve had only been gone a few hours, but to Sasha it felt like he’d left town again. Trying to keep himself busy, unused to the odd restless energy that had filled his limbs, he was in the kitchen. The tin of tea leaves was easy to find, nestled in its place in Steve’s cabinet. The kettle was still on the stove, so he filled it with water. 

“ _It’s a simple blend_ ,” a woman’s voice whispered through his memory. Familiar, warm and comforting. “ _Our family has used it for years. It will help with that boy’s pneumonia, you just watch._ ”

The dull ache he usually felt with these memories didn’t surface, and Sasha didn’t push at it like he normally did. It was oddly soothing, his body going through the motions it clearly remembered. So he just let himself be, lost in making two mugs of tea, one for himself and one for…

“ _It’s bad this time,_ ” a different female voice said, hushed and worried, “ _You can’t come see him, you’ll just get sick, too. Go home. Play with your sister._ ”

Sister?

Sasha stilled, staring at the white ceramic mug. Had he had a sister once? Or was that woman talking to someone else? The disjointed, half-memories were so much more frustrating than knowing nothing. Almost, just almost, he wished he hadn’t remembered anything. Could just be Sasha and not…Not anyone else. But a sister…

The kettle whistled sharply and he turned, taking it from the stove and pouring into both mugs. Steve wasn’t here, was at Stark Tower, but Sasha couldn’t imagine making only one cup. Like that had simply never been done because… 

_Will you drink it if I do, too?_

Sasha took a shaky breath, inhaling the steam and sharp tang of the medicinal tea. Steve had always been so fucking stubborn. 

Closing his eyes, Sasha inhaled again, and shuddered with the memory, a little boy’s voice asking, “ _Why won’t you come out and play with the rest of us after?_ ”

Another boy answering, “ _Can’t. Got a hole in my heart. Doctors say if I get too excited I could die.”_

“ _Can’t they fix that?”_

_“Nope. My mom cries about it sometimes when she thinks I can’t hear.”_

_Well, that’s… That’s just silly. You’re just **holey** , like a Saint or somethin’._

Laughter then. Laughter he knew, even though it came from someone much younger. Steve’s, his, and- 

Someone was watching him.

Opening his eyes slowly, Sasha found Sai staring at him from across the island. Sasha hadn’t even heard him come down the stairs. The kid was too solemn, eyes too old for his age, and Sasha already knew what he was going to say.

“When?” he asked.

“Two days from now,” Sai answered flatly, “He’s coming in on a private plane and will be staying at an undisclosed safe house. I got which airport he’s flying into, though, so we can follow him from there. Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

Sasha looked down at the mug of tea. Until a moment ago, all he could remember about tea was using it’s sharp bitter flavors to mask the taste of poison. Now it was healing, it was… 

“We leave before he gets back,” Sasha said coldly. “Pack. Ten minutes.”

“Sasha,“ Sai said carefully, “are you _sure_ you want to do this?”

Sasha looked Sai in the eye, willing him to trust that this was what was best for everyone.

“Steve is too close to S.H.I.E.L.D., to Hydra.”

“Steve is not Hydra!” Sai protested hotly.

Sasha raised his hand, shushing Sai.

“I don’t want to believe it either, but even if he’s not, he’s too close. You see how he trusts people. One unguarded word to a person Steve’s never had a reason to suspect, even talking to one of his friends near S.H.I.E.L.D.’s personnel, can be enough to bring Hydra down on our heads again.”

“Steve-”

“Steve could never live like us,” Sasha interrupted coldly. “He could never look at people he works with and plan how to kill them. He could never make friends with unsuspecting people for the sole purpose of killing them, _using_ them, destroying them. He’s a soldier, he will do what he has to in the field but…he’s different. As much as I like him, the man is _willfully blind_.”

“He _isn’t_ ,” Sai protested. “He’s really smart. And he said he already lost someone to Hydra before.”

Sasha closed his eyes, thinking of the memories. If his memories were true, if _he_ was the person Steve had lost, and Steve still did nothing after hearing that Hydra was in S.H.I.E.L.D...

Sasha’s face went hard, cold slowly spreading through his chest. 

“You told him Hydra was after me. You told me he saw S.H.I.E.L.D. tech in Hydra’s hands. Did he do anything about it? Did he leave S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

Sai opened his mouth, then closed it, lowering his eyes.

“I don’t blame him for wanting to hold on to the life he knows, to the friends he trusts. He thinks he’s doing something good. He has a home, a place here. I don’t blame him.” Sasha reached for Sai’s shoulder and gave it a rough squeeze. “It’s…rare to have that. People are allowed to…want that, protect that.”

Sai licked his lips, looking young and unsure.

“And us? Can we want it?”

Sasha closed his eyes for a moment, letting the coldness spread, take hold in his bones, in his muscles, in his mind, erasing all weakness and leaving only cold purpose behind.

“Not yet, Sai. Not until Simon Cassell is dead and buried.”

“Even if,” Sai licked his lips, “Even if we can’t ever have a home because we kill him?”

“Me,” Sasha corrected firmly. “I will kill him.” It was difficult, but Sasha made himself say, “I won’t make you come with me. You can stay. With Steve, if you want.”

Sai’s eyes flashed, shocked and hurt, then went hard.

“No. I go where you go. That’s how it’s always been and that’s how it stays. So if you’re _sure_ , if you’re sure it’s worth…everything, then we go and we do this. I just… Sasha, I need you to be sure.”

“I’m sure, Sai. I spent so much time, made so many careful plans to get us here. I waited for so long, until somebody offered me a contract on him as to make sure nobody knew I had any personal interest in this at all. He’s the lynchpin, the main artery. It ends when he dies.” Sasha looked Sai in the eye. “No more kill contracts after this. We wait a little for the dust to settle, and then find you a school you might like, new identities. A new life, a _final_ life.”

Sai took a long slow breath and looked around the cozy space. 

“I really liked it here, you know? Felt like we were a family.”

“Maybe we still can be, if we give Steve time… When things come to light, maybe he’ll understand. He did sleep with me _now_ , knowing who and what I am. Finishing this, it can’t be worse.”

Turning, Sai gave him one of his long looks and sighed through his nose.

“You actually believe that.”

Turning, Sai headed for the stairs without another word.

“Ten minutes,” Sasha called after him.

Sasha stared at the two mugs, then picked one up and dumped it down the sink. When he reached for the other his hand froze, the memory sense of a pen in his hand writing words, “You better be drinking your damn tea while I’m over here.” Slowly, he laid his hand on the handle and turned it about. Then he dropped his hand to his side and marched to the stairs. He needed to pack, too.

\----

It was late when Steve finally got back from movie night at Tony’s. Once he had realized Steve had already seen _American Pie_ , he had thrown a fit and demanded they watch something else. Steve had relented, if for no other reason than to soothe the man’s ego. ‘A handful’ was a kind description of Tony, but the guy really was a good friend. Steve could bend a little, especially knowing how far Tony could compromise these days.

When Steve opened the door, he _knew_.

It was too dark, too quiet. There was a quality to the silence, to the stillness that screamed at him. Shouted that there wasn’t anything alive here any more. His tiny flat had felt that way after his mother succumbed to tuberculosis. Opening the door to the small space, he had been almost bowled over by the sense of emptiness and coldness, as if along with his mother, all life had left that place. It was the same when he had got home that first night after Bucky shipped out. Emptiness, stillness, _nothingness_. 

He was alone.

Slowly he closed the door behind him and put his keys on the small table beside the door. They clicked loudly in the silence, echoing in Steve’s mind if nowhere else. 

Very carefully, he walked further into the room, feeling utterly numb. Cold. They were gone. Without saying goodbye, without a word, just...gone. He wondered if they had even left a note. No one else had, but maybe this time… 

On the kitchen counter, a mug of tea caught his eye. He no longer wanted a note, now that he had something to focus on, something so out of place. The numbness was fading, cracking, falling about his feet like chunks of ice. There was a swirling, howling thing taking it’s place in his chest, screaming at him as his feet took him across the hardwood floors to the island. 

There was no mistaking it, it was his tea. The one Bucky always made him drink, sometimes even when he wasn’t sick. The one Mrs. Barnes had given to his mother when he was eight and got so sick everyone was sure he wasn’t going to make it this time. The one that reminded him of home, or what had once been his home so very, very long ago.

Now it sat there. Mocking him. He hadn’t had a _home_ since he’d left for war.

Carefully, as if either he or the mug would shatter, Steve wrapped his hand about the ceramic. It was cold, full, but having been poured at least hours before. By Sasha, because who else knew about the tea? He hadn’t had any around Sai. And why, _why_ would he leave this here if he was leaving?

The mug rattled against the granite. His hand was shaking.

Jerking away, Steve backed up fast, heedlessly, and slammed his back into the wall. He slid down it, staring at the mug, listening to the empty house. His house that had felt like maybe, just maybe, it could be a home not hours ago. Now it was just another reminder that everyone left when you gave them enough time.

Everyone.

A sharp trill shattered the stillness, the silence, and Steve jumped. He sniffed, startled to realize he’d been crying. Sitting and crying, and for god only knew how long. 

Fumbling out his cell phone, he checked the text messages and swallowed because of course Natasha would text him that, _The Ambassador’s flight lands in two days. What’s the play?_

Steve sniffed again, wiped angrily at his eyes. This was his own fault. He’d known it was going to happen, known Sasha wouldn’t stay, wouldn’t choose him. He’d known it from the beginning, and he’d let himself hope otherwise. It was as if he literally had asked for this pain.

_We go into lockdown_ , he texted back, _like planned_.

_You sure about this?_ came the quick reply.

Looking around, Steve took in the silence again. The nothingness. This was the life he’d chosen, the only life he knew. This pain was nothing new, just a new scar over old wounds. He would get up, dust himself off, and go back to work because that’s what he did. It’s what he always did, no matter who left him behind. And if he felt he might welcome that blackness next time, it was his problem.

_Tighten security_ , he texted back, _Sasha’s gone. He knows_.

Squeezing the phone hard, he waited for the text he was expecting.

_You okay?_

At least he still had Nat. For now, anyways. Even the ones you knew would never willingly leave you could still be torn away.

_No. Doesn’t matter. We stop him._


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our wonderful, irreplaceable beta is NurseDarry; all hail the endlessly patient woman.

Chapter 19

Sasha checked his watch and clicked the seatbelt down in place. Starting the car, he waited, watching for his target. The vehicle had been stolen just fifteen minutes ago from one of the bigger drug dealers in New York. He always kept an eye on the local gangs and other criminal organizations because they always had plenty of cars, guns, and money, and wouldn’t report any of it stolen. It was almost like shopping at a supermarket. Just find what you like and put it in your basket. The gangsters were usually so sure of their street cred they didn’t even lock their cars. After all, nobody in their right mind would steal from _them_.

Sasha fucking adored the criminal element.

Today, he had needed three cars, as big as he could find, quickly. It had been only a matter of twenty minutes to lift an armored SUV, a van pimped out to look like an ordinary car on the outside and a party car on the inside, and a nondescript Corolla. He guessed the owners would be really bummed when they discovered the thefts. 

Idly scanning the flow of cars passing the front of his car, he spotted the quick red sportscar his target favored. Starting the engine, Sasha pulled up to the light and waited, settling a white ceramic mask down over his face 

The red car moved into position and Sasha slammed his foot on the gas pedal, forcing the big SUV into a frog-like leap forward. He crashed right into the side of the little sportscar. Though braced for it, the impact jerked him hard. The pain didn’t phase him, though. He pressed the gas pedal harder, his bigger car forcing the smaller, lighter car off the road and onto the sidewalk. 

The weight difference of the cars and the tall curb flipped the small car right over. 

Sasha didn’t waste time getting out of his car. People were screaming, running, some away, some towards them. He ran towards the flipped vehicle, threw himself on his belly, and wriggled over to the nearest broken window. Reaching through it, he pressing the hypodermic syringe against the first naked flesh he saw before he even got a look at the woman.

Natasha Romanov was dazed, but already recovering. The speed of their collision wasn’t high enough to cause her serious damage, though she was sure to have realised what was happening. It happened too fast for her to do anything about it. Her green eyes barely focused on him before they rolled back, the drug taking her out.

There was no time to hesitate. Sasha slid away from the window, stood, grabbed hold of the door, and ripped it out in one heave. A flick of his wrist sent it skidding over the sidewalk to crash against the nearest building. At least two too curious bystanders jumped back, but Sasha paid them no mind. Palming one of the smaller knives from his thigh holster, he crawled back inside the car and cut the Widow down from the seat belt holding her safely in her seat.

Limp, she fell as soon as the restraints were cut and he had to catch her awkwardly. It was singularly uncomfortable, dragging her out of the car while crawling backwards, but he managed. By the time Sasha was straightening up outside the wreck, holding the unconscious Widow under her armpits, another car screeched to a halt right beside him. Again, the onlookers scattered like a flock of startled pigeons. 

Shifting the Widow to his metal arm, making it easier to hold her, he reached his other to open the door to the stolen van. Tossing the Widow inside as if she were a toy, he then flung himself inside and slammed the door behind them. Before the door shut, the van’s engine roared to life, clattered down the curb, and back onto the road.

Sai was a good getaway driver. He drove fast, but calmly, kept under the maximum speed limit and knew his alternative routes by heart. Without needing to be baby-sat, he would get them to their next location while Sasha ensured they wouldn’t be tracked. With her support system, there was little doubt the Widow would have trackers on her at all times. He knew, because if he had a support system like that he would carry them too.

Dispassionately, he stripped her down. What he couldn’t take off quickly, he tore until she was completely naked. He didn't even spare her the underwear, knowing that whatever a Widow had on her could and would be used as a weapon. The tattered remnants were flung from the moving vehicle through the sliding doors, as were all that was in her pockets. 

Next, Sasha pulled the small device he had bought in a DIY shop. Normally, it was used to detect cables in the walls during renovations. He didn’t have access to truly good scanning technology, so made do with civilian tech. It would have to be good enough. Running it over the length of her body, he looked for anything non-biological. The device showed three anomalous readings: one on her right thigh; one on her left, upper arm; and one on her right ass cheek.

Putting the device away, he palmed the smallest of his knives and waited till the car’s movements evened out. Careful to only break skin, he made small cuts over he places the device had indicated. It took a little effort to find all three, the one in her arm deeper than he expected, but he eventually found all of them. The metal arm crushed them one by one, though he made sure to throw the remnants away too. 

There was little he could do at this point to stay in Steve’s good graces, but Sasha meant to do as much as he could. Starting with cleaning the cuts using the supplies he’d brought. The numbing ointment, however, had nothing to do with Steve. When Natasha awoke, she wouldn’t immediately know that he had gotten the trackers out. 

In another concession to not making this attack as horrible as it could have been, Sasha dressed Romanov in cheap sweat pants big enough to cover her even her naked feet, and an old t-shirt. Sai calmly drove them into an underground garage. The third car was waiting here and Sasha carried the Widow to the back seat. 

They didn’t speak as they set the van on fire, removing any DNA evidence. Sasha tossed the mask into the bonfire and then he and Sai separated. The kid’s job was done. 

Sasha drove the Corolla to a house nearby that had been put up for sale a while ago, but was in too poor a condition to generate much traffic. Beforehand, Sai had hacked the garage door so Sasha opened it with his phone and drove right inside. Pulling the Widow from the back, he carried her inside. The house was empty, windows covered with tarp to keep out prying eyes. The only furniture were two chairs. One was metal, it’s legs bolted to the floor that Sasha had set up prior to the crash. He set the Widow down in it and bound her as tightly as he could. It wouldn’t hold her for long, but it would hold her long enough for him to do what he needed to. This was not about killing, though that would have been so much more simple.

Pulling up the other chair, an ordinary one, he sat down in front of her. The timing was perfect, because as soon as he straddled the chair and folded his hands over the back, Romanov woke. She didn’t move, didn’t react outwardly, but he could see the tiny change in her breathing patterns. The way her chest expanded differently now in comparison to before was obvious, if you knew how to look.

“I know you’re awake,” he said.

Far too experienced to betray her surprise, Romanov slowly opened her eyes and fixed them unerringly on him. They were focused, calm and offered him nothing.

Then she opened her mouth and spat a series of words at him. _Those_ words. The ones Steve had made sure couldn’t hurt him again. Sasha smiled slowly at her and turned his head, shaking his hair aside enough to show her the Stark tech in his ear. They worked perfectly; he hadn’t heard a thing.

“Let’s try again,” he growled.

This time Romanov took more time, looking him over, the room, her clothes, her bare feet.

“You stripped me?” she accused. 

There was something challenging, almost seductive in the tilt of her neck. Widows were masters of seduction, that wasn’t a secret to him. The fact all those moves seemed very familiar, on the other hand, _was_.

“If it’s any consolation, I didn’t really look,” he answered.

Romanov looked at him for a long moment, probably reading his body language and a hundred other clues from his clothes. It didn’t matter though.

“So what now?” she asked, dispensing with the games, “Steve didn’t give you those fancy hearing aids for this, but you knew that. How far are you planning on taking this, Morozov? Torture me for the ambassador’s location? Kill me? How much do you want to hurt him?”

 _This_ was the entire problem with him and Steve. It was too hard to ignore her manipulation.

“You’re alive,” he said flatly, “You’re unharmed. When you see him, you remind him I didn’t have to do that.”

Romanov sat back, looking at him speculatively again. Leaving her alive and aware in this situation was a very stupid idea, he knew that. So did she.

“I warned him you would do this. No matter how much you care, you’re going to break his heart. It’s what you are. What they made us.”

“Shut up,” Sasha snapped. “You don’t know as much as you think, little girl.”

Romanov’s arms flexed, testing the restraints. It didn’t matter, he knew she wasn’t getting up any time soon. Message delivered, he now reached for another dose of the drug. When she woke up, she would be able to free herself and call for backup.

“No half-assed message I give him will make this better. You do this, it’s _over_.”

Sasha didn’t answer; this wasn’t about him and Steve. This was about the job and he always met his objectives. This particular one had been in the works for a while now. He wouldn’t let himself hesitate, even at the surprisingly painful thought that she was right.

“Sasha,” Natasha said, voice suddenly gentle, “You don’t _have_ to do this. You don’t have to be what they made you. There’s other ways than torture and murder for hire. Ways that mean you can have a life with Steve and that kid of yours.”

Time was running out. Sasha didn’t have the comfort of further hesitation, of listening to the Widow’s manipulation. Even what he did now, securing the Black Widow instead of killing her was a mistake. Yet, he couldn’t stand even the thought Steve’s eyes if he learned that Sasha had killed his best friend. He was already hurting Steve enough as it was just by doing what they had made him to do. All the torture they ordered on innocent civilians, witnesses, the gruesome murders just to make a statement… Sasha did all that again, and _worse_ , to them. No matter the motive, Sasha didn’t believe Steve would condone those actions. 

Sasha’s window of opportunity was getting smaller and smaller; he had wasted too much time with Steve, too much time hesitating. Simon Cassell needed to die, now. There would be no second chances. If he failed now, they would realise it was _him_ attacking them. They had left him mostly alone because outright chasing him was expensive, and Hydra preferred to remain in the shadows. Shootouts in Paris, in New York, were not helping. This would change that. All the things Hydra had him do as their Fist, he had visited on them and they would find out.

“You know,” she said, sounding almost believable, “I was rooting for you two. He was finally happy.”

Gritting his teeth, Sasha stuck her with the needle. He was used to fighting through the pain, of moving towards it, never away from it. This time wouldn’t be any different. Now all that was left was getting past Steve.

\----

They were staging for the ambassador’s arrival in a hangar just off the runway at JFK. It was a smaller airport, not so easy to get lost in, but Steve wanted less collateral damage in the vicinity. The particular hangar was situated as far from any other tall buildings as one could get in New York. With two sides facing Broad Channel, another the modest homes of Howard Beach, and the fourth the rest of the airport, it was as secure a location from a sniper attack as possible.

The plan, as it stood, was for the ambassador’s private jet to taxi onto the runway, straight into the hangar. He would then be moved via secure convoy to the safehouse S.H.I.E.L.D. had set up in Manhattan. The problem, because there was always a problem, was they were going to have to drive through most of the city to get there.

Steve was running through the route, their four alternate routes, and the position of the cars in the convoy with the ambassador’s private security when his phone rang. The only phone he carried during missions was for emergencies, so he excused himself immediately.

The caller ID read Director Fury and he steeled himself for bad news.

“Rogers.”

Fury opened with, “Romanov is missing.” 

Steve’s stomach dropped and all eyes turned towards him as he grabbed the nearest table for support. He didn’t notice, eyes closing as the pain of this betrayal washed over him. Sasha had gone for Natasha and he’d _gotten_ her. His family, the woman who was always there, no matter what he needed. The one who had told him how foolish he was being.

“Report?” Steve managed thickly, dizzy with stunning pain.

“Her car was run off the road. Bystanders saw a man in a white mask with a metal arm pull her out and drive off in a blue van. All her trackers turned up empty. Every single one, Captain. She’s gone.”

Steve bowed his head. The sheer weight of this loss, so soon after the last, was simply too much to bear.

“Who’s looking for her?”

“Did you not hear me, Captain? She’s gone. The Winter Soldier has removed her from the game, and he is not known for leaving witnesses alive.”

Metal groaned, echoing through the hangar. 

“Is there a body?”

“Excuse me?”

“I said,” Steve growled, “Did you find a body?”

“No, but-”

“I’m calling in Tony. He’ll find her, or he’ll find the body.”

There was a beat of silence before Fury said, “As long as you’re still on Ambassador Cassell. A lot of very important people will be very angry if anything happens to him, Captain.”

“The only way he gets Cassell is if he goes through me,” Steve snapped, feeling the anger and the pain settle deep into his bones. 

Lowering the phone, he hung up and sent a quick text to Tony telling him to call Fury and suit up. Then he typed in Sai’s number.

 _Where is she_ , he typed, then hit send.

Walking back to the briefing table, Steve continued talking to the private security, but he didn’t put his phone down. They were good, these guys. Wherever Cassell got them from they were obviously very highly trained. After nothing for ten minutes, he sent Sai another text.

_Natasha Romanov. Red hair, likes black, punches like a truck. Where is she?_

This too got nothing. Sai always had his phone, was always _on_ his phone. If he wasn’t answering, he’d either blocked Steve, or was ignoring him.

_I know you’re there, Sai._

The longer he went without an answer, the worse the anxiety twisted in his stomach. This was his fault. If she was dead, Steve had killed her. Just like he’d killed Bucky. Maybe Natasha and Sasha had it right, maybe it was stupid to trust anyone.

_WHERE THE HELL IS SHE?_

This time, Steve didn’t wait ten minutes before he sent another text. 

_She’s all I have left, Sai and he took her. He TOOK her. Where is she? Is she dead? TELL ME!_

Finally, his phone chimed a reply.

_He didn’t kill her._

Steve bowed his head again, the relief at those four little words making him dizzy. Quickly, he sent a text to Tony letting her know he wasn’t looking for a body. The moment he did, though, the sick rush of betrayal washed over him more strongly. Natasha wasn’t dead, but Steve honestly wouldn’t put it past Sasha to use her as a bargaining chip. If Steve didn’t let him have the ambassador, he could threaten to end her life then. 

The cellphone snapped in Steve’s hands, startling the men around him. He ignored it, tossed the ruined device away. 

“Captain Rogers?” the lead guard questioned hesitantly. 

“Romanov is out of the picture,” Steve said curtly. “Ambassador Cassell arrives in two hours. This plan has to be perfect. Run it again.”

They glanced at each other, then nodded slowly.

They ran it again.

\----

A mile away, Sasha sat prepping for the mission. The weaponry was specialized, enough for a small platoon, and everything he thought he’d need to take down an armed escort if his first shot didn’t do the job. Normally he wouldn’t have planned for any other contingencies, but with Steve calling the shots, he didn’t want to risk being unprepared. The sooner this was over, the better.

Sasha would have so much hardware on him, he would probably find it difficult to move freely if he was normal. There were the usual guns and knives, but also explosives. A lot of explosives. Shaped charges, regular grenades, magnetic grenades, smoke grenades, poisoned grenades, even poisoned darts, everything he could think of that he could need. He would even be wearing his half mask that covered his mouth and nose. Once he put the goggles on, nothing of his face by the forehead would be visible but even that would be obscured by the hair he left hanging free. 

Sai’s cell phone chirped. A text message. Sasha glanced the boy’s way and he was pale, but put the device down without answering.

This mission was different than all the other ones for more than just that reason. It was _the_ mission, the _final_ one. He had plans that spanned A to M, from the most optimistic, to ones that assumed everything went to shit so badly Sasha would have to sacrifice himself to get the job done. And he would do it, if needed. 

There was also a plan if he got captured. Sai hated that part of the plan, the small explosive Sasha had swallowed that could be remotely activated. When detonated, his insides would be liquified beyond any chance of survival. It would be so fast it probably wouldn’t even hurt. Sasha was sure of one thing: he would never go back to Hydra. As much as Sai hated the whole idea, he understood it; neither of them would return to their oppressors. Not alive, anyway.

A fourth text made Sai’s cellphone bleep and he looked up to watch the kid read the text, just a little paler than the last time. His hands shook a little more as he put the device down.

“ _That_ is why giving him our number was a mistake,” Sasha said mildly. 

Theirs was a business of lies and betrayal; letting your heart be vulnerable was pure stupidity. It was ugly, pointing that out, but it needed to be done. It was a painful lesson to learn, he supposed, but it would stick better that way too.

After another text, Sai swallowed hard and closed his eyes. Then he typed in a reply. Sasha watched, but didn’t ask what Steve had written in his texts. He didn’t want to know and he trusted Sai to make the right choices. Though, he thought he was going to have at least one reason to kick Steve’s ass. Sai didn’t upset easily.

When he put the phone down, Sai flipped it over, took out the battery and the SIM card.

“I told him she’s alive,” he admitted.

Sasha nodded. Two more hours and they would be done. 

\----

The location for the first transfer was to Steve’s credit. Sasha had spent hours trying to figure out how to get a clear line of sight inside without being spotted. In the end, he’d realized he couldn’t. It simply wasn’t possible. However, ricocheting a shot from the first story roof of the nearby shipping warehouse? Not impossible with the right gear.

“Control tower just approved their descent,” Sai said blankly. “He’ll taxi in in ten minutes. They’ll roll up the hangar door in eight.”

“Copy,” Sasha said simply. 

Putting on the dark, visor-like glasses, he pressed the button that activated the device he had set up against the fence, angled to face both him and the inside of the hangar. A camera at the top rotated a full 360 degrees, and he turned it now to face the steel door. 

Exactly seven minutes and fifty seconds later, the door began to rise. A line of vehicles waited inside, noses all pointed towards the exit: black SUVs, likely armored, and bulletproof. An armor-piercing round could probably take one out, but there was no guarantee of that these days. S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra, had access to all the new toys. 

Along one side of the vehicles was a row of armed and armored men. At their head was Captain America. Swallowing, Sasha pressed a button on the side of his visor and a targeting path calculated the ricochet to hit any one of the fifteen men, Steve included. 

“Is he there?” Sai asked, sounding oddly hopeful.

“Of course.”

A sigh barely picked up by the mic. Apparently Sai had hoped Steve would sit this one out. That was…foolish.

The plane itself finally came into view, a small, private G5 jet, and stopped. They started to roll down the hangar door. Sasha smirked, activating the second camera he’d snuck into the hangar itself. When powered down, there was nothing for anyone to detect. Any sweeps would have completely missed it and, sure enough, it flared to life, revealing the hangar’s inside.

The hangar door lowered just as the plane's steps touched the concrete floor. Sasha took careful aim at where Ambassador Cassell’s head would be as he descended the stairs.

Steve didn’t know shit; Hawkeye could _never_ make this shot. 

Then he watched as Captain America hurried up those steps and into the plane.

All right, so maybe Steve knew something.

“I have no visual,” Sasha reported irritably.

“And what would you like me to do about that?” Sai demanded. 

Before Sasha could snap back, movement at the top of the stairs caught his eye. Steve was walking with the sick son-of-a-bitch, Sasha’s last target, down the stairs. With the way he curved his body, holding his shield over Cassell, there was no way to kill the Ambassador.

Sasha swallowed, waited. Maybe when they got to the cars.

Except, no, Steve walked Cassell all the way there, practically wrapped around him like an octopus. It was disgusting, except it was so fucking effective. Sasha _couldn’t_ hurt this man, not in any permanent way, because there were shots to take. One that would go through Steve’s neck, into Cassell’s. Another that would go through Steve’s torso, then into Cassell’s. Another that would take off Steve’s arm, but his own arm protested with a deep phantom ache. Hell, there was another rifle that could fire explosive rounds that would leave both Steve and Cassell as bits of mangled flesh.

Sasha didn’t reach for that rifle.

Steve _had_ to know what he was doing, the danger he was putting himself in. It was-

A challenge. He could practically hear Steve saying, “ _You want him? You got to come through me.”_

“That goddamn punk,” Sasha snarled. 

“No shot?” Sai asked.

“Bring the van around. We’re going with Plan B.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our wonderful, irreplaceable beta is NurseDarry; all hail the endlessly patient woman.

Chapter 20

Steve knew everything would go to hell when the lead car suddenly deviated from the assigned routes. 

“Where the hell are you going?” he snapped through the radio.

“Ambassador Cassell thinks it’s faster to take Conduit instead of Crescent to Atlantic,” came a very tired, harried reply.

Steve took a deep, trying breath.

“And did you explain to the ambassador that it’s not about getting him there _quickly_ , it’s about getting him there _safely_?”

“The ambassador says that’s your job, Captain Rogers.”

Steve swore viciously and creatively, but turned his mic off first. It wasn’t that Conduit was necessarily dangerous, but the curve it took around the back of a high school left no exits, no escape routes. Which was why Steve had chosen Crescent instead. Goddamned bureaucrats. It was like Cassell wanted this confrontation.

Sure enough, the second they passed the turnoff to any safe streets, a white truck barreled across the grass, into the street and plowed straight into the lead car. It certainly wasn’t as subtle as Steve expected, but it was fucking effective. The SUV turned sideways, skidding and then rolled over and over down the road, blocking two of the three lanes. The third had the truck in it, so the other four vehicles slammed on their breaks to avoid a collision. When the second car went up in an explosion, Steve knew Sasha wasn’t even in the damned truck.

“Take the southbound lane!” Steve shouted. “Get the ambassador out of here!”

The three remaining cars peeled off, slamming through the tree-lined divider and into oncoming traffic. Steve saw too late this sent them _towards_ Sasha, who was standing next to the damned playground aiming a very large weapon at the third car. The car that was, of course, carrying the ambassador. 

Dressed in black combat gear, Sasha was literally bristling with ordinance. His metal arm was uncovered, gleaming in the afternoon sun. On the metal hand was a black, fingerless glove, probably for enhancing his grip on the strange rifle he was holding. Besides the multitude of weapons, guns, and knives strapped everywhere, what caught Steve’s attention was the damned mask. It covered his whole lower face, looking strangely like a muzzle. Above it, he had dark goggles and his long hair was flying loosely in the wind. It always surprised Steve that Sasha rarely tied his hair back, it had to have been so much more difficult to fight with it constantly flying into his face. Steve couldn’t actually see anything of his face between the hair, the mask, and the goggles, but something in the heavy, grounded stance screamed of purpose and determination. 

Steve narrowed his eyes, made himself focus on more than the man. This was real. This was happening, here and now. They had been standing on opposite sides of a war for a long time, and the front had finally reached them.

Steve didn’t hesitate, no longer having time for that luxury. He pulled hard on the front wheel brakes so the end of his bike flipped him up and over the handlebars. Bringing his shield down between them, he curled himself behind it and braced for impact. Sasha didn’t miss, so the explosive round collided with Steve’s shield and sent him flying through the air, end-over-end. His legs collided with the back of the last SUV, shattering the rear window, and he tumbled over it, across both lanes of traffic, stopping when his back slammed against a tree.

Ears now ringing, Steve forced himself to a knee and stopped when the earth swam into the sky. He gasped, shook his head hard, and forced his eyes to focus. Sasha was still by the playground, the weapon lax at his side. If Steve didn’t know better - and he did now - he would have said something in his posture spoke of fear. Then he turned his head, looked at the SUVs speeding away towards Atlantic, and there was nothing but an expressionless, masked assassin left where a ghost of Steve’s lover had stood. 

Dropping the weapon, Sasha strode to his bike, parked just feet away, climbed on, and was off after his prey. He rode the bike perfectly, his body low over the handlebars, and accelerated rapidly, controlling the huge machine with ease. Cursing, Steve made himself stand and run to his own bike, though his head was throbbing now. The thing had taken a bad tumble when he used it like a spring board, but it fired up okay. 

Someone in the last SUV opened fire as Sasha sped after the ambassador, Steve hot on his heels behind him. Cars screeched out of their way, hitting each other in a mad dash to escape them. Thankfully by this point, they were speeding _away_ from the high school, but Steve still shouted at the idiots to hold their fire. 

They didn’t listen, likely on Ambassador Cassell’s orders, and bullets exploded all around them in the crowded street. The carnage they were leaving in their wake made it nearly impossible for Steve to catch up. At this point, Steve was afraid they were doing more damage than Sasha was, because as brutal as Sasha’s attacks were, they were also very precise. He hadn’t missed once, hadn’t hit anything but the convoy cars. Even when he had driven that first SUV out of the road, he’d hit only their convoy.

Sasha was weaving, gaining on the SUVs and using the traffic to keep himself from being shot. Helpless to stop it, Steve watched Sasha raise a handgun, shoot out the window Steve had broken, and chuck a grenade inside with impeccable aim. The vehicle exploded in a ball of flame, sending shrapnel and god knew what else in every direction. Sasha barely dodged to the side, almost laying sideways, and Steve had to take the sidewalk to avoid slamming into a silver Nissan. 

“There are too many people!” Steve shouted into the mic. “Go _right_. Any goddamn right! Lead him to the park; I can catch up to him there!”

The lead car swerved through a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot, slammed over a curb, and bounced onto Highland place. The second car swung a hard left after the building, and they roared up the little two lane residential street. 

Sasha tucked away his gun, leaned lower over his handlebars, and gunned the engine. Then he glanced back and Steve swore he looked right in his eyes as he threw another grenade. _At him_. With no place to go, Steve had to slam on his breaks again, cut sideways and gun it over a curb into the White Castle parking lot on the other side of the street. By the time he got back on the road, avoiding the wreckage the grenade had left of a red pickup parked there, the SUVs were a block away and Sasha was pulling up on the left of the rear vehicle. Instead of cars and bystanders in the way of his shield, this time Sasha was just too far away for even Steve to make the throw. He was forced to watch as he pulled something out, slapped it onto the side of the vehicle, and then abruptly swerved to the left, down a side street.

“Get out!” Steve shouted, but he never would find out if they’d heard him. The second vehicle exploded more violently than the last. If Steve had been close, he likely wouldn’t have survived. As it was, the lead vehicle was pushed so hard, the rear wheels lifted off the ground. The smell of burning rubber, and worse filled the air. Sasha was no longer in sight, but Steve knew the attack was nowhere near finished.

Twelve men dead, god-only-knew how many wounded innocents, and for what? Steve clenched his jaw, gunned the engine and caught up with the last SUV. He wouldn’t let Sasha win.

“Go right,” Steve commanded, “He’ll be coming from the left.”

Sure enough, as they hit Jamaica Avenue, Highland Park and Cypress Hills National Cemetery, beautiful and peaceful to their left, Sasha came roaring down the street. Mourners and tourists alike stared from within the green cemetery and from the sidewalk. Steve was going too fast to see their faces, but it felt wrong disturbing the rest of so many dead.

This time, Steve had the shot and he took it. The shield soared through the air, struck the front wheel of Sasha’s motorcycle, and sent him flying through the air. Sasha was nothing but grace, however, and he landed in a roll, coming up and flat out _running_ at them as the shield flew back to Steve.

Steve smirked. Sasha could run all he liked, he wasn’t catching up. Turning back around, he was just in time to watch the car crash.

They were simply going too fast. A car pulled out from a side street, not expecting the SUV speeding seventy miles an hour past the speed limit. The SUV tried to swerve, but that only put him into the oncoming lane which another vehicle was already in. With no place to go, the driver took the SUV over the curb, bounding hard, and lost control. It struck the wrought iron fence, and crashed into the cemetery beyond. Before it slammed into a mausoleum, it took out two headstones and at least one flower display.

With no other options, Steve followed. They had a minute, maybe, before Sasha caught up. Leaving the bike on its side, he ripped the passenger door off its hinges, reached inside, and pulled the ambassador out by his jacket. The man squawked, likely thinking Steve to be Sasha, and only relaxed when he caught sight of the suit.

“Oh thank god,” Ambassador Simon Cassell mewled. 

The driver was either dead or unconscious and the other guard had been thrown halfway through the windshield. Steve swallowed his anger at his charge and began dragging the man between the mausoleums. Made of solid stone and packed tightly together, they were perfect cover even as Sasha opened up behind them.

Mind whirling, Steve pulled Ambassador Cassell past the second line of marble mausoleums and realized he would never outrun Sasha. Not with the ambassador slowing him down. He would have to stand and fight and, somehow, protect the bureaucratic idiot who had just gotten fifteen men killed because he wanted to get home faster.

Dragging Cassell through the the third line, they both ducked as a bullet pinged off the stone in front of them. That was it, then. They’d get no further. Coming around the mausoleum side, he slammed his shield into the steel door. The ambassador yelped, but had no ability to stop Steve from throwing him bodily inside. 

“Stay,” Steve growled. 

Ambassador Cassell swallowed hard, but nodded as he crawled backwards across the marble floor. Slamming the door shut, Steve turned and took a deep breath. This was going to end one way or the other right here. It seemed almost fitting they were in an ancient cemetery, surrounded by people who had died before even Steve had been born. It was quiet, too, with plenty of light. Another time, he would have liked to come here just to draw some of the sculptures someone had spent a fortune attaching to the tombs.

Steve shook himself. Now wasn’t the time to be distracted by pretty things. He focused, imagining what Sasha would do, how he would want this to play out.

Then Steve set out to stop him, because all he had left was this job.

\----

Sasha knew the crash for what it was: Steve wasn’t running any more. There were six mausoleums ahead of him, the obvious place for Steve to have ducked after Sasha’s last shot had missed. There was a chance he would keep going, keep running to one of the three a little further away, but that didn’t sound right. The crash had been closer, maybe to the left?

Careful now, knowing he was as much prey as predator, Sasha eased slowly forward. No movement caught his eye, no shadow or sound. He reached the end of the sheltered space between two mausoleums and knew Steve could be waiting for him just out of sight, on either the right, or the left. 

Scowling, Sasha abandoned stealth and rolled forward, coming in low and bringing up the weapon in a sweep from left to right. Nothing. No one. He swept again, and the broken door to one of the mausoleums caught his eye. Glancing about again, ever fiber of his being on edge because there was _still_ no sign of Steve, Sasha crept forward.

When he sensed movement, it took him a moment to realize where it was coming from. Not left, not right; _up_. Sasha hesitated. There were ways he could have responded, mostly lethal ones but he still hesitated. There was something, some instinct, that stopped his hand every time from escalating these fights with Steve into anything truly lethal. Yes, they broke bones, but had never outright endangered one another’s lives. When Steve leaped in front of his explosive round, it had shaken Sasha badly. For a brief second he froze completely, unable to do anything but stare at Steve’s body flying through the air like a thrown ragdoll, only finding the strength to move on when he saw Steve get up again.

It was a moment too long. Steve’s bulk crashed into him and they rolled, Sasha trying to get distance, Steve trying to get a hand hold. He kicked out, catching Steve in the jaw, and took a vicious punch to the kidney for his effort, but it got him enough space that he could stand.

Drawing his Scorpion sub-machine gun, he forced himself to feel nothing but the cold as he pointed the gun at Steve’s stomach. The shield, as Sasha expected, didn’t come down. Steve didn’t dart back between the mausoleums and out of Sasha’s line of sight. Both would have been tactically sound, _smart_ things to do. No, Steve _stepped into_ Sasha, grabbed his wrist and brought the shield down on it.

The Scorpion fired, sending chunks of a tombstone flying into the air. Despite himself, Sasha screamed as bone broke. It was only by sheer force of will that he held onto the gun at all, the pain like fire in his mind. He delivered a punishing blow to Steve’s side with his other fist, breaking bones too in a vicious retaliation.

Steve didn’t even flinch. The shield rose again, backhanding Sasha hard enough he flew back several steps, crashing down onto the concrete foot path. Still Steve didn’t stop, on him in a heartbeat, grabbing him by the buckles on his vest to lift him bodily overhead. With a shout of rage and something that sounded like pain, Steve threw him through the doors of the mausoleum Sasha assumed the ambassador was hidden in. He crashed down the steps, collapsing in a heap at the bottom.

A scream of pure fright drew Sasha’s attention and he dizzily swung his head towards the sound.The Scorpion was still in his hand, the flesh one always a liability, always so weak, still clutched tight in his throbbing fingers. He transferred it to his metal hand, lifting it. Just before he could pull the trigger, Steve’s foot kicked his metal wrist so hard even the arm couldn’t hold onto the gun, and it flew through the air to clatter against stone. 

That was his easiest course of action being taken away from him, leaving him with only the ugly choices. 

“Plan G and down,” he said lowly, hoping only Sai would hear him, the mic attached to his throat picking up vibration from his vocal cords rather than actual volume of his words. Sadly that also meant Sai had heard him screaming earlier.

A gasp came through the earpiece and Sasha briefly wondered if Sai was crying. He couldn't hear it, but there was something suspicious about his breathing pattern.

“Charges armed,” Sai said shakily. After a moment he continued, his tone forcefully even. “Ready for your call.”

When Sasha looked towards Steve, he saw that Steve had stopped for a second, before looking down at him with a look so _alien_ it stole Sasha’s breath. The pain in his wrist was manageable now that the shock had worn off. Sasha controlled his breathing again, accepted the pain, accepted that it was part of him, part of his existence and then moved past it.

“So,” Steve panted, “I think this is the part where you try to barter Natasha’s life.”

Sasha blinked, staring up at Steve. It wasn’t a bad plan as a matter of fact. Before he could try to bluff his way through it, Steve let out a wretched laugh that tore away the coldness in Sasha’s chest.

“Thing is, she’d never forgive me if I put more red in her ledger. So no deal. Kill her. Take everything. That’s what you do, right?”

“Steve, you don’t understand,” Sasha protested, glancing at Simon Cassell as he backed himself nervously into a corner. 

“Oh, of _course_ not,” Steve snorted. “Please, enlighten me. Oh, and tell Sai not to bother running to the rescue.” He pointed at Sasha. “You’re not going anywhere this time.”

Sasha swallowed, not because he was afraid of being arrested - he was, Hydra would have him in no time and he would be forced to detonate the explosives he swallowed - but because he could feel the rage pouring off Steve in waves. Both Sai and Natasha were right; there was no coming back from this. That just made his final job all the more important. He had to keep Sai safe.

“Sasha, talk to him,” Sai suddenly pleaded. “Try convincing him to help, _please_ just try it. Try _everything_ before detonating the charges. _Please_.”

There were so few things Sai ever asked of him, Sasha hesitated to ignore this. Yet, there were very few things Sasha actively resisted doing. Fewer still that he avoided at all costs. One of those things was begging. He had begged so much, for so long and _nobody_ had listened. It was one of the first promises he’d made to himself; never to beg again, never to ask for help, never give anybody the chance to refuse him.

“Please,” Sai repeated quietly, “just try.”

Sasha licked his lips. Sai was almost surely crying, his breathing artificially even. Then there was Steve. He looked dangerous and so angry, but underneath he looked shattered. Like a ghost of himself, and Sasha was the reason. He was made to be a force of destruction and even getting away from Hydra hadn’t changed who and what he was. He had done this to them.

“Do you know who that man is?” Sasha demanded.

Cradling his broken wrist, he surreptitiously ensured the bones were aligned correctly and could heal properly. With his enhanced healing, if he’d left it unattended for long it would heal wrong, and Sasha would have to break it again in the same spot. 

When he moved as if to stand, Steve took a menacing step forward, so he quickly stopped. Steve had learned, finally learned that a conscious Sasha was a danger. Always a danger. It didn't matter how hurt he was, how outnumbered, as long as he was alive he would find a way to cause death and destruction. It was how he they’d made him, after all.

“Don’t listen to him,” Cassell sniveled. “He’s a madman. A psychopath.”

Something shifted in Steve’s eyes and he glanced at the ambassador before focusing back on Sasha. Vaguely, he wondered what Cassell had done to piss Steve off because he would listen, but not because they had history. Not because they’d shared a bed.

“Do tell, since you clearly think I’m out of the loop.”

Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t, but Sasha knew Steve was essentially a good man. Yes, there was a chance he worked for Hydra now, but even if he did, Sasha could never see the man he knew condone what had been done to Sai. Steve still thought he was protecting people. Either he was being fooled by Hydra, or fooled by their world-peace shtick that covered for their paranoia and unending lust for power, but in the end, he was a _good man_. And maybe Sai was right. If he was, Sasha had to be sure. He owed that truth to Steve, to Sai and maybe even to himself.

“Sasha,” Sai whispered. 

“Stay put, Sai,” Sasha demanded. “Just...stay where you are. It’s gonna be fine.”

Steve’s lip curled, but he didn’t interrupt.

“Ambassador Simon Cassell is a money launderer. That’s not all, no. He makes his money on the black market. _Trafficking people_ , Steve. He sells men and women into slavery. _Children_. That son of a bitch kidnapped and sold _Sai_.”

Sasha’s voice was fierce when he continued, willing the truth to hit and hit hard.

“You know how I know? I tracked the fucking invoice, Steve. You know what they called Sai? _Entertainment equipment_. They gave him a number, a fucking number. His people, his organization. That is what he does, he sells people like things.”

Blue eyes flicked to the ambassador again and Sasha knew he had Steve. Hydra or no, he was only trying to do what was right. 

“That’s a lie!” the ambassador shouted.

Steve held up a hand, all commanding presence of Captain America, and the sniveling maggot shut up. Sai was very quiet in Sasha’s ear, not even his breathing audible.

“I found him in a mansion, a gorgeous place in France. I was still the Fist then, I wasn’t me, not the way I… Not me. Sai was... They were using him for sex, Steve. He was _twelve_.” Steve shook his head so Sasha pressed harder. “They had drugged him so he _liked_ it, liked the hit of the heroin, the euphoria that let him not feel anything for a moment. They starved him, hung him from the ceiling in their dining room as a trophy. As a _plaything_ to be admired and used! Do you have any idea the nightmares he has? The things he screams in the middle of the night? Do you know, that even though he’s clean now, he’ll be addicted to those drugs for the rest of his life? That half of his teeth are artificial because they were knocked out to keep him from _biting_?”

“Sasha,” Sai gasped in his ear, shocked at the naked rage in Sasha’s voice.

Steve looked away, pained now. But even as he did he backed up. Yeah, he had learned well from his mistakes. Sasha should have remembered that when he planned this attack, but he’d underestimated his opponent. Frankly, he hadn’t thought Steve had it in him to be so brutal. Then again, Sasha had never seen him like _this_ either.

“If that’s true,” Steve said, swinging his head back to look at Sasha, “If it’s not a lie, I’ll make sure he pays for it. After a fair trial.”

“There won’t ever be a trial!” Sasha knew he sounded hysterical, but couldn’t stop now. “He works for _Hydra_ , Steve. The men who made me the vicious brutal monster that I am, the thing you despise so badly. You think they’ll let their money just walk into a jail cell?” Sasha laughed, harsh and bitter then. “He brings in hundreds of millions of dollars by selling thousands of people every year! He takes them off the street, he buys them from their families...”

“That’s a lie!”

“Shut up,” Steve growled. The pure malice in the two words even made Sasha shiver. Then Steve was watching him again, eyes somehow cold and encouraging at the same time. “Go on.”

“I’ve been tracking Hydra’s money from the moment I got free,” Sasha obeyed, easing to his knees and feeling more hope when Steve didn’t stop him. “The network of their business is complicated, decentralised. Consisting of both legal and illegal enterprises that all work to fund Hydra’s operation. They’re all over the world, everywhere.

“When I learned that, I spent five years planning, pruning here and there to change the network without Hydra noticing anything out of the ordinary. Five years making the network look like I needed it to.” Sasha paused, licking his lips, feeling even the ambassador staring at him now. “It won’t last long, Steve. Sooner or later Hydra _will_ notice the manipulation and they’ll redistribute the money flow. More than that, when they catch on, they’ll be much more careful next time. They never expected anyone to go for their money, Steve. They expect you to go for their operatives, their heads, but it’s useless trying to cut off their heads when you know they’ll just grow back. It was tried before, hell even _you_ killed one. and what difference did it make? Seventy years later you work for a branch of Hydra, that’s all that’s changed.”

Sasha gasped for breath, feeling wrecked, turned inside out, revealing so much of himself, his life, his purpose. But Sai was right, Steve was right, he did owe them the truth for once. But it hurt to see the complete lack of surprise in Steve’s eyes when Sasha said he worked for a branch of Hydra.

“The money, that’s how you hit them,” Sasha said, his voice hoarse, “That’s how you make Hydra bleed, you stop their funding. They’re bad people, power hungry people, so of course other bad people want them dead. To get this much power Hydra had to commit countless murders, overthrow whole governments, obliterate entire rival crime syndicates. They have enemies. _Many_ enemies, all over the globe. I took their contracts, every single one, and I made them play right into my hands.” Sasha took a deep breath, “I made them _pay_.”

“Revenge,” Steve said flatly.

“Yes!” Sasha said fiercely, not trying to hide the fierce, brutal pride in his words. “I was fucking happy to take the torture contracts, to get paid for dishing out to them what they did to me and so many other people. But it was much more than that. Don’t you see? By killing the people responsible, those making Hydra’s money, I forced them to to redirect most of their finances into the hands of one man.” Sasha pointed at Cassell. “Him. It took years of careful planning. I couldn’t move all at once, I had to make them think it was completely unrelated to who they were, their ties to Hydra. I had to make sure no one thought it was personal, but it is. Steve, god, I know you work for them, but you have to see how evil they are! Whatever they told you, whatever they promised you, it’s a lie!”

“You think I work for _Hydra_?” Steve repeated, and he looked so hurt Sasha wanted to kill someone _besides_ Cassell.

“I don’t know, do you?” Sasha demanded, carefully standing. “They found me after I came to you. Four years and nothing. Then I start seeing you, and _bam_ they’re on me in a heartbeat. And you work for S.H.I.E.L.D., you’re one of their best agents. Hydra is so deep into S.H.I.E.L.D. it’s impossible to see where one ends and the other starts. S.H.I.E.L.D. is basically another _head_. So yeah, you could be Hydra, but, Stevie, I know you’re not a bad person. _Cassell_ is.”

“Don’t you call me that,” Steve snarled, looking confused, heartbroken, and still so very angry.

Quickly holding up his metal arm in submission, Sasha tried not to think how much those words hurt. This was his fault; Steve had only been doing what he thought was right.

“Okay, just, look, I have to finish this. For Sai, for myself, for the world, Steve. If he dies, his whole corporation shatters. What’s left will be swallowed by the competition, or be so weak it won’t provide more than a trickle of revenue. Hydra will suffer huge financial loses. Money is power, Steve. No money, no power. You let me do this, and I break them. Please, Steve. If not for me, for _Sai_. Don’t let these bastards get away with it.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. will stop them,” Steve said, but there was very little conviction in his voice.

Sasha pounced.

“No, Steve, they won’t. You don’t think they _know_? Of course they know. Not about Hydra, that’s a secret from at least half the troops, but the sex trafficking? The money laundering? Steve, they know. They know and they don’t care because they want the money, too.”

When Sasha finished, Steve wasn’t looking at him any more. He was staring at the floor, face hard and closed off for the first time since they had met at that party months ago. It was a position Sasha knew he should take advantage of. Steve’s guard was down and it would be so easy to rush in, knock him down and finish this even with his broken wrist. If he did, though, he knew it would end things between them. More than this contract, more than what he’d done to Natasha; attacking now would break whatever they had left. That last, slim chance that Steve would understand, maybe even forgive.

So he waited. Waited and hoped that Steve would let him do the right thing.

“Is it true?” Steve finally spoke, voice low and gravelly. Cold. 

Blue eyes focused over his shoulder and when he turned, Sasha followed his gaze to see Natasha had apparently freed herself from her bonds and found them. Sasha had been so wrapped in telling Steve the truth, making him understand, he hadn’t heard her enter. Steve had, but now that Sasha was aware, her attack lost all it’s surprise. That wasn’t the reason she stopped moving, though.

“Steve-” Natasha began, but stopped when Steve’s jaw tightened.

“Is it true?” he demanded again.

The expression on Natasha’s face could only be described as pained. There was no doubt she knew that telling Steve would hurt him. It was why she hadn’t before now.

“Yes.”

When Steve’s eyes closed, Sasha found that her confession hurt _him_ as well. Not the word itself, he knew this was the truth, but the effect it had on Steve. Like they had ripped a part of him away, leaving him bleeding before them. Sasha thought that maybe they had.

“I don't think Fury knew about the kids, but we knew he worked the black market, and he does pay for a lot of…”

Natasha trailed off as Steve held up a hand. 

“Let me finish the contract,” Sasha asked quietly.

Steve didn’t respond. He still stood between Sasha and Cassell, and Sasha knew he wouldn’t be allowed past. Incapable of breaking this fragile truce, Sasha continued to watch as Steve pulled off the blue helmet that granted his anonymity. Slowly, he brushed his fingers over the A, then swung his head around to stare at the ambassador cowering in his corner. The look in his eyes was hard and not like his Steve at all. It was the look of a stranger.

“Steve…” Sasha said carefully.

Those eyes Sasha had come to desperately need trained on him didn’t turn his way. The helmet fell to the marble floor, thumping loudly in the stillness, before Steve turned his back on Sasha entirely. Cautiously, Sasha glanced at Natasha. The woman met his gaze, their mutual concern for Steve Rogers overriding everything else in that moment as she moved to Sasha’s side. There was no question she was as nervous and unsure as he was with Steve’s uncharacteristic actions. Neither of them knew what to do either.

No one tried to talk to him again. Three pairs of uncertain eyes watched as Steve walked calmly towards Cassell. Halfway there, he paused, slung the shield onto his back and bent to pick up the Scorpion he had kicked from Sasha’s hand.

“This is absurd,” Simon Cassell broke, as his protection seemingly turned on him. “Hydra? _Please_. A nightmare from the Second World War. There’s no proof of what they’re saying, Captain. If there were, there would be a trial, a riot, an uproar.” He laughed weakly, “No one would stand for it.”

Steve stopped a foot from the man, staring at the handgun like it was the first he’d ever laid eyes on. A beat of silence and his hands began moving over it with familiarity, checking the safety, the clip, the chamber. They didn’t tremble or hesitate; they were sure, steady, graceful. 

Sasha knew Steve couldn’t lie well, but that didn’t mean he didn’t understand manipulation. He was pushing the ambassador to give him exactly what he needed without even saying a word. What Steve needed to hear was an admission of the man’s sins from his own mouth, and the sick bastard was crumbling as though he was made of sand. The inspection of the weapon was a tool. It was intimidating, not least of all because Steve never once looked up at the man in front of him. 

“I’ve never hurt a child in my life,” Simon Cassell’s voice went high, panicked. “Never. And I’ve done a lot for S.H.I.E.L.D! It’s not possible to run an organization that size without a source of income. You need me! That’s why you’re here, why you have to protect me!” 

The hands chambered a round and went still. Steve tilted his head just enough to meet the ambassador’s eyes and the man folded like a chair.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. needs _my_ money, _my_ contacts, or they can’t operate! So, maybe I got a pass for some things that aren’t strictly legal. Maybe I make a little money when my people move a shipment, or complete a sale, but I never touched that child, any child, not personally.”

Before either Natasha or Sasha could twitch, the Scorpion’s muzzle pointed at the ambassador’s head and Steve pulled the trigger. The automatic weapon obliterated Simon Cassell’s head.

In his periphery, Natasha’s hand flew up to cover her mouth, but she didn’t make a sound. Sasha’s stomach dropped, but he couldn’t decide if he was horrified, because why should he be? Simon Cassell was a monster, someone who needed to be wiped from the planet, especially after what he had done to Sai. Yet, Sasha also knew it shouldn’t have been Steve who took his life. It should have been him; that was _his_ job. Bucky’s job.

“Steve,” Natasha broke the silence, but her voice shook in a way Sasha hadn’t thought possible. 

Darting a look at her, he found it wasn’t Steve she was looking at. It was Sasha’s gun in Steve’s hands. He remembered, jarringly, the surprise Steve once confessed to feeling that he had the desire to live. Then the confession that night on the bathroom floor about how tired Steve had been. The way Steve danced around saying he wouldn’t have minded dying, if he got to be with Bucky again. Fear set Sasha’s heart fluttering. Steve _wouldn’t_...right?

“Nothing’s happened here that we can’t come back from,” Natasha pressed while Sasha wracked his mind for something to say. Blood was pooling around Steve’s feet. “Don’t… Don’t do anything you can’t take back.”

This time, Steve didn’t ignore them. He nodded, measured and careful. He still wouldn’t look at them, but he was listening. Natasha darted a glance at Sasha, then tipped her head towards Steve, urging him to say something, ensuring Steve didn’t now do what they both feared he wanted to.

Carefully easing himself forward a step, Sasha said quietly, “Gimme the gun, Stevie.”

“Got told once I had to have one of these on me every time I went out in the suit,” Steve said, voice flat and toneless. “It was for protection, he’d said. Making sure I kept myself safe. Never told him, but it always seemed impossible to protect people while you were also threatening their lives.” He chambered another round. “After the ice, I stopped carrying a weapon. They said we’d won, said we were at peace. Think I finally get why he insisted all that time.”

“Who, Steve?” Natasha asked, trying to keep Steve talking as Sasha shifted another few steps forward. Two more and he could take the weapon from Steve’s hand. 

Except Steve went back to ignoring them. For a moment, Sasha’s heart felt like it stopped. Then, in a single, smooth movement, Steve tucked the Scorpion at the small of his back while pulling off the shield with the other. 

“I quit,” Steve declared so quietly Sasha almost couldn't hear it. 

The shield hit the floor, ringing loudly and causing both assassins to flinch. Sasha and Natasha stared at it, the symbol that was as much Captain America as Steve himself. Neither moved to stop him as he walked away. 

The steel door to the mausoleum door closing behind Steve rang like a bell’s final toll.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our wonderful, irreplaceable beta is NurseDarry; all hail the endlessly patient woman.
> 
> Also, for those in the know. There is a phrase: can of worms in this chapter. I was really, really tempted to change it to: can of wyrms.

Chapter 21

Sasha stood frozen, staring at the half-open door to the mausoleum, scenting the blood in the air. The Black Widow was equally as silent beside him, still and lost.

“Sasha, what’s going on?” Sai asked in his ear, breaking his reverie. “The chatter I intercepted suggests that S.H.I.E.L.D.’s backup will reach you in less than six minutes. You need to exfil now.”

“ETA four minutes,” Sasha said quickly, startling Romanova. “Release control of the outside charges.”

Sasha started unstrapping his tactical vest with a sharp, _rip, rip, rip_ sound where the velcro let go, and Romanova focused on him, her eyes widening as she caught sight of the secondary armor underneath and the layer of shaped charges between the layers. Plan M had been to blow himself and everything in the vicinity if he couldn’t get to Cassell any other way.

“I’m going to blow this place sky high,” Sasha explained calmly.

Detaching the charges from himself, he went to the body still lying on the floor in a pool of blood and brain matter. He slapped the first charge onto the body itself before getting up to place the rest of them on the walls, directing the force of the explosion inwards, to make sure that everything inside the building was incinerated, not thrown out every which way.

“You are on comms with S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Sasha asked, connecting the last charge to his phone.

She shook her head.

“No, I was in too much of a hurry to stop and resupply after you took out everything I had on me.”

“Report that you saw me kill Cassell.”

She gave him a searching look, as if realising for the first time that he was serious about Steve, about caring for him. Taking the rap for him? Not a problem at all.

“Once you blow it, I’ll report that I thought Steve was here, too. It’ll give him time while S.H.I.E.L.D. digs through the rubble for his body.”

Sasha didn’t know why Steve would need time, but he appreciated the thought for his own reasons. If nothing else, it would give him time to get to Steve before S.H.I.E.L.D. tried to win him back, or debriefed him, or whatever contingency they had for Captain America going rogue.

When he turned back around, Sasha hesitated upon seeing the shield. 

Nodding towards it, he asked, “What do we do with that?”

Natasha shrugged, coming over and taking more charges from him. Surprising himself, Sasha let her, watched as she set them above the door.

“Leave it. He doesn't want it and they’ll always let him pick it up again.”

“Three minutes ‘til you need to be clear,” Sai reported.

Looking back, the Black Widow held open the door for him. Sasha raised an eyebrow.

“I’m calling in that favor,” Natasha declared, ignoring the look. “You go find Steve and you fix what you’ve broken.”

“You’re an awful negotiator, Romanov,” Sasha said, stepping past her and out the door, “Paying me for something I would do anyway.”

“Maybe,” she smiled at him, staying by his side as they walked away from the street, further into the cemetery and park where they could easily be lost, “but the Winter Soldier has never failed a job. This way, we both know you’ll succeed. Besides,” she smirked at him, “now if I need your skills, I’ll just ask Steve to do the job.”

Sasha’s steps hesitated and he shot her a hard look.

“I don’t like people knowing my soft spots when I don’t know theirs,” he growled.

Unphased, she just gave him a cool look.

“Mine’s the same as yours, Marozov. When you finish groveling, I’ll be doing some of my own.”

“A Widow apologizing, that I’d like to see.”

She shrugged, unperturbed.

“It’s Steve.”

There really wasn’t another explanation necessary.

He started walking again, watching her profile.

“I think…” he started, words dying in his throat, uncharacteristically hesitant.

They were passing the oldest part of the cemetery now, so old that some of the headstones were faded, the writing unintelligible. His eyes snagged on a dark grey one; plain, with bits of stone broken off. He couldn’t read the name, but the small angel etched into the stone was still visible.

Romanova stopped beside him, looking at the headstone that had caught his attention. She said nothing, waiting him out.

“There’s something familiar in the way you lie,” he said finally, eyes tracing the simple etching with his eyes. “The way you fight… I know what you’ll do before you actually do it. I know things about you I shouldn’t know.”

Romanova crouched down before the headstone, reaching a hand to brush the dirt from the faded letters. It didn’t help, it only made her hand dirty. The grave remained nameless.

“I think we met before,” she admitted, not looking at him. 

There was a kind of emphasis she put on the word ‘before’ that made him realise she didn’t mean that time he shot her in Iraq. He could have killed her then, could have killed her this time, too. Yet something always stayed his hand. It could have been coincidence, happenstance…or something else. It felt too much like the instinct that kept him from killing Steve to be anything but the latter.

“Red Room,” he said finally. “I don’t…” 

Sasha swallowed, watching her crouched before the headstone, painstakingly cleaning the faded letters. Her profile was striking, all pale skin and clean lines. Beautiful, like all Black Widows. Every time he looked at her, he was haunted by the sense of familiarity, of missing something. Having it just on the tip of the tongue…but never quite grasping it. 

“I remember a lot of my time with Hydra, especially after the Red Room. But _those_ memories are… There aren’t a lot of them.”

He paused, watching her dust her hands and get up.

“I have plenty of memories from the Red Room,” Romanova said calmly, evenly, looking at him with clear, fearless green eyes. “But none of them are true.”

“I don’t remember you,” Sasha said quietly, walking once more.

“I knew to fear you the first time I heard your name.” Romanova’s glance became careful, guarded. “I don’t fear many people.”

“We’re both creatures of the Red Room, and they tend to keep their secrets,” Sasha said.

They were approaching at the line of parked cars on the street. He scanned for an older model he could steal easily.

“They also seem to be good at building in a Steve-shaped weakness into their operatives, don’t they?” she said with a small smirk, serene or maybe just resigned to the reality of their lives. 

For a brief moment Sasha wondered if she was in love with Steve, before dismissing that thought. She was a Black Widow and the Red Room had made sure its Widows were not capable of love, or having a true romantic relationship. There was a reason so few of them survived the destruction of the institution. Even less had learned to live on their own. Sooner or later, the loneliness killed them one way or the other.

“That they do,” Sasha agreed easily, veering off towards the car he had spotted as a likely candidate.

“Don’t let them get you, Widow,” he said without looking at her as he headed for the car. “They aren’t worthy.”

She said nothing.

Behind them, the mausoleum exploded with a huge boom, causing confusion and mayhem, letting them slip away unseen.  
\----

When he made it back to Steve’s house, there was a single light glowing on the top floor. The front door was open, so Sasha let himself in and climbed the stairs two at a time. The house that had became so familiar to him now felt strange, cold and uninviting. Through the door, he was greeted with a familiar scene: Steve’s duffle, half-packed, sitting on the bed. Steve himself was also sitting on the bed, a picture frame in his hand. A glance at the wall showed several frames missing, not just one. The one with Peggy, the sketch of Bucky, and the group shot of the Howling Commandos.

Though he was as silent as ever, Sasha took one step into the room and Steve’s hand lifted from between his legs, pointing Sasha’s own Scorpion at his chest.

“Steve?” Sasha questioned carefully. “It’s just me.”

The gun didn’t waver for a long moment. Then the long artists fingers pushed down the safety, unloaded the clip and locked down the slide all without Steve looking, or taking his other hand from the picture he was holding. It was impressive, even to Sasha, and he couldn’t help but wonder why Steve knew how to do that when he clearly hated guns.

To his surprise, the answer was just waiting in his mind. _He_ had taught Steve to do that. Bucky had, because the punk couldn’t go running around a war without knowing how to use a handgun. Just knowing how wasn’t good enough, either. He had to be good at it. Fuck Steve not liking the things, he was going to know how to use a gun as well as Bucky did. If he wanted to fight a war, he was going to deal with that, too.

“If you’re here to apologize,” Steve said dully, “You can save your breath. I’m really not interested.” 

Sasha frowned, but approached slowly. The picture, he saw now, wasn’t one he had seen before. It was Steve and _him_ , younger, so much younger, and Steve so much smaller. Sasha’s - Bucky’s arm was around the tiny Steve’s shoulders, holding tight as they both grinned at the camera. Though it was black and white, faded to a soft brown with age, it was obvious how happy they both were. It was more than the happiness that caught Sasha’s eye, though. There was a certain kind of intimacy, easy camaraderie between them in that picture that they’d never managed here in this century. Briefly, Sasha wondered if it had been only he who had changed so much, or maybe they had both lost parts of themselves to war and time, coming out broken and lacking at the end.

“What am I supposed to say, then?” Sasha asked, looking away from the picture as that dull ache started at the base of skull again.

Steve didn’t answer, just twisted and pushed the picture into the bag. The gentle clatter it made suggested where Steve had put the other photos. His face was still and blank, like the face of a marble statue. Seemingly a perfect rendering of a human, yet something alien in the eternal stillness of the expression. 

“Where are you going?” he asked carefully, edging closer.

“Don’t know yet,” Steve answered.

“Have you told anyone?” Sasha pressed, feeling the first inkling of desperation. He knew if Steve left, he wouldn’t see him again. “Your friends? Would you even have told me if-”

“Told _you_?” Steve whirled on him. Anger sparking in his eyes, different from every time Sasha had seen the emotion in him before. This time it was dark, dangerous; as if Sasha was looking at himself. “Why the fuck would I tell you?”

“Because,” Sasha stumbled, “we’re-”

“Nothing,” Steve interrupted. “We are _nothing_. You’ve made that very clear.”

“No, this,” Sasha stepped quickly forward, heedless of that danger as Steve so often was, “None of this was about you, about us. It was about Sai, and me, and needing to be safe again.”

“Not about me?” Steve repeated, incredulous. “Is that what you told yourself? This wasn’t about _us_? Which part, exactly? The part where you didn’t trust me? Or the part where you thought I might be Hydra? Maybe it’s the part where you attacked my best friend and allowed me to work for them? I know you’re fucking oblivious, but really, _that’s_ your argument? I know,” Steve said sarcastically, “it must be the part where you knew you would have to go through me to get to your target.”

“Steve-”

“Did you ever once think that maybe, just maybe, I would help you?”

“I couldn’t be sure,” Sasha confessed. “It was too much to trust that-”

Steve laughed, harsh and hollow.

“Yeah, I’ve gathered it’s way too much to ask you to trust me. After everything, it’s just too much.”

Turning away, Steve yanked a drawer open harshly enough it came clean off the railings. Instead of putting it back, he just dropped it atop the dresser and pulled out what he needed. The action was a dismissal. Steve was done. It hurt so much more than Sasha expected, his stomach dropping to his feet, knees feeling abruptly weak. 

“Please, just… I can explain-”

“Natasha tried to warn me,” Steve spat, “She said I would draw a line in the sand and you’d step over it. She wasn’t right, though - usually is, but not this time. No, the line was already there and you just didn’t give a shit.”

Abruptly he stopped and whirled on Sasha again.

“Did you _ever_ care?” he demanded. “Because that’s actually easier to believe. Tell me, did you?”

“Yes,” Sasha moved quickly, grabbing Steve’s arms and holding on tight as Steve tried to twist away, “Yes, god, _yes_. This wasn’t ever a game for me, never a con. I knew finishing the contract would hurt you, but I didn’t think-”

“You never do,” Steve said, cold and abruptly unmoving in Sasha’s grip. That was somehow even worse. 

“You trust so easily,” Sasha said haltingly, speaking quickly again as he saw Steve open his mouth to protest. “You look at a person and can decide if you’ll trust them with your life, your body… You know what you are and what you can give to others. You place all that you are in other people’s hands.” Sasha swallowed. “I can’t do that. Half the time, I don’t even know myself. I have to second guess every decision I make, verify that it isn’t something coming from some deeper programming. I-,” He hesitated, “I can’t trust like you do, Steve. I don’t know how.”

Steve’s eyes were hard, unforgiving, not offering Sasha the leeway he usually did.

“You should have tried _harder_. God knows I did, trying to understand you, trying to conform to _your_ needs, your fears, your fucking jealousies. Only, turns out I was the only one to compromise! You think it was _easy_ , trusting you? Not knowing if I would get someone I loved hurt for this risk? That’s the thing about trust, you don’t get assurances!”

“It wasn’t my intention to -”

“Of course it wasn’t,” Steve almost sneered, “It’s not like you maintain ties with anybody but Sai. But it’s so much harder to just up and disappear when you have people that care about you, when you have to fucking admit that your actions hurt somebody else. Tell me, how many times have you hurt Sai, just ignored his feelings? How many times has that kid had to sit and wonder if the only father he’s ever known is lying somewhere, bleeding to death?”

It was too hard to breathe, the words hitting too close to home. How many times indeed? He remembered suddenly, Sai screaming at him that Sasha was all he had. The words he used that evening were almost exactly what Steve was saying now. Would he ever learn to stop? Steve certainly wasn’t about to wait any longer, or forgive any more.

“You keep yourself separated from everybody,” Steve went on, “Keep your walls high and tight, letting no one in. I kept hoping,” Steve’s voice cracked, “like a damn fool, that you would lower the walls for me. I told myself if I was patient and careful, you would open up.” Now Steve looked simply sad. “That you were worth the wait. But you never did. You never even _tried_.”

Sasha’s hands tightened on Steve, hard and painful, but like every other time, Steve didn’t protest. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Sasha whispered, pleading and desperate.

“Why do you have to _do_ anything?” Steve demanded, angry again.

“Because if you leave I’ll never see you again.” 

Sasha was sure of it. Something deep down was screaming at him that if he let Steve leave now, even if they met again, he wouldn’t be meeting the man he was facing now. There were many things Steve would forgive, even more that he would accept, but it seemed that even he had limits. If Sasha didn’t fix it, here, now, Steve would never give him another chance.

“Maybe,” Steve leaned in, getting into Sasha’s face and growling, “you should have thought of that before you threw us away.”

“No, I didn’t, I had to. You know I had to, you...You _did_ it. You have to have understood, or why else did you kill him?”

“What I understand,” Steve shouted at him, “is that you refused to ask me for help _again_. That you are incapable of trusting anyone. I know you think I’m fucking stupid, but I refuse to be with someone who can’t even be bothered to tell me his fucking name.”

Sasha reeled back, abruptly releasing Steve. But the man advanced on him.

“What?” Steve sneered. “You didn’t think I actually fell for that ‘I’m Sasha Marozov,’ bullshit, did you? My best friend is a fucking Black Widow, and you think I wouldn’t know a fake name when I heard one?”

“Steve, just, listen, okay,” Sasha tried, his mind spinning rapidly around him.

“I’ve _been_ listening, _Sasha_ ,” Steve snapped, “You haven’t told me a goddamned thing I don’t already know. You wanna fix this, but you don’t even know what _it_ is! You aren’t willing to be vulnerable enough to even try.” 

The worst thing wasn’t the pure anger pouring off of Steve, but the anguish underneath. Stopping his backwards retreat, Sasha grabbed for Steve again, desperately holding tight to his waist.

“What do you want me to do?” he pleaded. “Tell me, just tell me and I’ll do it. Just...don’t go!”

Blue eyes stayed hard as stones, but Steve’s hand gently tipped his head back, baring Sasha’s throat. He swallowed, but didn’t fight; the gesture was very intentional, and if he couldn’t prove with words that he trusted Steve, he could at least prove it with his body. He already had, actually. Letting Steve touch him, see him broken and vulnerable, letting Steve fuck him, letting him do things to his body Sasha had never let anybody else do, not willingly. He thought it had been obvious, that Steve was the only one allowed that close, that deep. Maybe it had been, if Steve thought to use his body to emphasise his point now.

“What’s your name?” Steve asked coldly, an ugly mocking tone to his voice. It sounded as if he was mocking himself, for being stupid enough to ask again. As if he was asking just to hear further proof of Sasha’s failure to trust him.

Sasha swallowed again; he didn’t think the answer would make any of this better, but he had to try. He was desperate enough to tear open that can of worms he had spent days carefully avoiding, burying it so deep in his mind that not even a trace remained.

“James,” he licked his lips, “Buchanan Barnes.”

Steve stared at him for a heartbeat, naked hurt on his face, a pale betrayal that turned his eyes the color of tap water, light blue and transparent, before the anger returned in force. The hand on Sasha’s jaw tightening painfully. It took all Sasha’s self control not to fight, to stay still and vulnerable, the way Steve wanted.

“That isn’t funny,” Steve growled, voice trembling with barely suppressed rage.

“No, no, it really isn’t,” Sasha agreed, seriously, making an effort to meet Steve’s eyes. Let him see how true it was.

“You can’t-”

“Your mom’s name was Sarah,” Sasha blurted, suddenly _needing_ Steve to believe him, and the information just came to him. Waiting for him to find it. “We met when I got you kicked out of Sunday school by making you laugh during afternoon prayer.” Steve was shaking now, but he wasn’t hurting Sasha any more. “When your mom died, we got a place off Clinton and Myrtle in Brooklyn. You always hated that tea and I don’t know why you like it so much now.”

“Stop,” Steve commanded, “H-how…?” He looked shaken, so pale Sasha thought he might keel over any second.

“Hydra,” Sasha answered, and Steve would have flinched away if Sasha hadn’t clamped down on his waist again. “I don’t remember all of it, most of it. I didn’t remember _you_ for the longest time. I still don’t, mostly, but the longer I’m with you, the more it comes back. Please,” Sasha heard Steve inhale in pain as his fingers tightened again, and he immediately loosened his hold, “I need you. That’s about the only thing I’m sure of with this, with us. I can’t lose you, I _can’t_.”

“Bucky?” Steve asked, then closed his eyes so hard his whole face scrunched up. “Jesus, _Jesus_.”

Without any more warning, Steve’s legs gave out. Sasha caught him, pulling him in close, and let out a groan of relief when Steve didn’t fight, when he clung to Sasha like he had that day at the museum. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asked, no, _demanded_ , but he didn’t lift his head from Sasha’s shoulder.

“Because I didn’t know what I was supposed to say. ‘I think I might be your dead best friend from the 1940s, but I’m really not sure because Hydra took all my memories, but sometimes I know things about you that you’ve never told me?’ That sounds sane and believable.” 

Sasha couldn’t help the sarcasm; it was better than the screaming terror he felt inside him. One of them unable to stand was enough at the moment, so he held onto the sarcasm for all he was worth. Luckily, Steve laughed - a miracle - and Sasha felt hope that maybe things would be all right. 

Lifting his head, Steve pushed Sasha’s hair out of his face, blue eyes darting over his features rapidly. He tilted Sasha’s face, this way and that, and Sasha let him, would let him do whatever he wanted if he didn’t have to lose him.

“Jesus,” Steve breathed again, shaky and weak. Then just like that, the blue eyes filled with horror. “Th-this means you didn’t- You never- I didn’t look for you. Oh my God, oh my God.”

Turning from pale to green, Steve jerked away and fled for the bathroom. Sasha followed, because this was not a trauma he wanted to inflict on Steve. At the toilet, Steve vomited what little he had apparently eaten that day and Sasha knelt at his side, carefully rubbing his back, trying to ease the tension trembling in the muscles. 

When the retching stopped, Steve groaned, “What they did to you and I didn’t… I didn’t even _look_.”

“If I recall,” Sasha said gently, “You died a few days later saving the world. I was just one guy.”

“You were everything,” Steve corrected. “ _Everything_.”

Frowning, Sasha grabbed the mouthwash on the sink and passed it to Steve. He swished and spit, then flushed the toilet and wiped at his mouth. Then he just sat back, eyes closed. The anger and the energy in him seemed to have drained right out. The lines on his face, shadows under his eyes, gave him the appearance of a much older, much more tired man.

“So what am I now?”

Steve’s head snapped up, blue eyes fierce. Opening his mouth, he hesitated, gaze softening as he reached out and stroked Sasha’s jaw.

“What do I call you?” he asked, and Sasha laughed because it was that or sob.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be him, be Bucky again. There’s just...so much,” he hesitated, strangely unwilling to pick a name, declare himself to one thing or another. “I’ve been Sasha for so long, it’s what I remember best, but… There’s these new memories…”

Steve shifted closer, taking Sasha’s hand and tugging him down to the tile. The affection he’d been missing so far that night was back in Steve’s gaze, along with enough understanding he felt steady enough to continue.

“When you call me Sasha, I know you’re talking to me. But when you call me Bucky… I get all these new memories, feelings, proof that I was a _person_ once, that I was somebody’s son, somebody’s friend…that I existed before Hydra, and that matters to me more than you can ever imagine.”

Nodding slowly, Steve squeezed his hand.

“I’ll call you whatever you want; Sasha, or Bucky. You were - are - Okay, this is confusing.” He laughed weakly. “Um, I was,” Steve blushed, “in love with you then. Not sure how you never noticed, but, ah, _Sasha_ has been...is… Fuck, okay, I realized about three days ago I’m in love with him. You. I really need to figure out what to call you…” Steve said helplessly.

“Call me Sasha today,” Sasha offered, feeling lightheaded and off-balance, the fact that Steve admitted to being in love with him still ringing in his ears.

“That helps, okay, well, _Sasha_ , I’m still pissed off as hell at you,” he took a shaky breath, “Not for this, I think _this_ I can forgive, but the whole Hydra thing… Your contracts; you should have told me. I can’t do this if you won’t trust me. You used to trust me implicitly.”

“I’m still not sure how,” Sasha said honestly. “Hydra… They deconstructed me, slowly, carefully, over many years… They stripped everything human out of me. They had me for so long…longer than I ever knew you, even. It’s been a struggle, learning to be a person again. Some things are still so strange to me. Even now, five years after escaping them, Sai needs to remind me to take painkillers because I expect the pain to be something I need to ignore, that injuries are a cause for punishment, not something to seek help for.”

Steve blanched as Sasha spoke, but tried for humor to cover the obvious distress the words had caused.

“And you say _I’m_ damaged.”

Smiling tightly, Sasha was grateful for the change of topic.

“Well, you are.”

Steve laughed again, the one from somewhere deep in his stomach and Sasha melted. Gathering Steve to him, he held on tight, held him through the laughter and the shaking that followed. Steve's arms were tight about his back, as if letting go would make Sasha disappear.

“You can’t hide things from me again,” Steve said, spelling out the ground rules without Sasha having to ask for them. “Whether you think it will upset me, or you don’t know how I’ll react, it doesn’t matter. You have to tell me, _trust me_ to understand. With anyone else you can play it how you want, but with _me_ you put your cards on the table. Okay?”

“Okay,” Sasha said, though it terrified him. Then again, Steve had been very clear about wanting vulnerability.

“We’re gonna have to talk about a whole bunch of stuff,” Steve sighed, “Like what you remember, and...just...things, but right now, I gotta get out of here.”

“What?” Sasha blinked. “Why?”

Steve smiled at him, sitting on his heels before standing and offering Sasha his hand.

“Because the Army’s never been a big fan of just letting people walk off with their property.”

“What?” Sasha said, startled. “They can’t- You’re not property.”

Steve chuckled dryly.

“Well, I’m not sticking around to find out. Natasha will buy me as much time as she can, but she has to call it in.”

She had already done both, but Sasha doubted Steve had been in contact with her. It would be a risk she wouldn’t take. This was just Steve’s faith in his friend. 

“And then?” Sasha asked, taking Steve’s hand.

“Then, we finish what you started, and what I promised to do when I lost you. We burn Hydra to the ground.”

Sasha grinned fiercely.

“Yes, let’s do that.”


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 22

The second they pulled up outside the safehouse, Sai slammed open the door and froze, staring at them. Sasha hesitated, glancing at the kid and then at Steve. From beneath his cap, Steve did the opposite, glancing at him, then at Sai. It was clear neither the man, nor the teenager knew what to do, likely even what to feel. It was sad, but kind of adorable.

“Hey, kid,” Steve called a greeting. “You gonna come over here, or what?”

With his welcome now known, Sai darted across the sidewalk and tried to bowl Steve over with the force of his hug. With one arm, he hugged the kid close, grabbed Sasha with the other and dragged him in. Though he was surprised, Sasha got the hint and wrapped them both in a hug. 

“Missed you, kid,” Steve admitted quietly.

Sai sniffed suspiciously, then slammed a fist against Sasha’s chest.

“I _told_ you,” he snapped, looking up and glaring, “I told you -”

“Hey,” Steve interrupted sharply, “That’s enough of that. We all make mistakes.” He ghosted his fingers over Sasha’s wrist where it lay against Sai’s back in silent apology. “Then we forgive each other and move past it.”

“We do?” Sai asked dubiously.

Steve gentled his tone.

“That’s what family does, Sai.”

Sasha swallowed audibly and Sai’s head whipped up to look between them. Shaking his head, Steve ruffled the kid’s hair and brushed a kiss over Sasha’s cheek.

“Give you two a minute, shall I?” he asked with amusement. 

“Um, later,” Sasha said, but he hugged Sai tight to his side for a second before letting go. “We should get moving. Truck is parked out back. We load up and get on the road.”

“I need to pick up a Stark Phone somewhere,” Steve informed him.

Sasha gave him a displeased look and it made Steve smile like a complete idiot.

“Why?” Sasha demanded.

Steve just raised an eyebrow. They could start this trusting thing somewhere. When Sasha blew out a breath, looking incredibly annoyed, Steve knew he’d gotten the message. 

“Fine, but I bet you’re going to do something stupid.”

“Don’t I always?” Steve teased.

“I did watch you jump in front of a grenade today,” Sasha said agreeably, “So I’m not sure anything you’d do would surprise me any more.” 

Steve laughed shortly, caught Sasha by the belt and yanked him back as he started walking away. It surprised Sasha, but he went, then melted as Steve kissed him. It was just a chaste press of lips, but it was the first real kiss they’d shared in days.

“I’m still mad at you,” Steve said quietly when he pulled back. 

“If this is you mad, I’m okay with that,” Sasha answered, a smile pulling at his lips, but his eyes were wide and vulnerable like Steve hadn’t ever seen before. Still a little scared, then.

“If you two are done?” Sai asked impatiently. 

“Where are we headed?” Steve asked, then frowned and held up a hand, “Never mind, don’t tell me.”

Chuckling, Sasha took his bag from Steve's shoulder with his metal arm while Sai just glanced back at him and raised an eyebrow. Neither had to ask to know why he had changed his mind. If he didn’t know, he couldn’t give it away indirectly. He was trusting them, too.

The grey truck was surprisingly large, a Ford F-350 that someone had spent a lot of money making comfortable. Sasha tossed his bag into the covered bed and Sai climbed into the back seat. Steve took the passenger seat, finding his legs could actually stretch out fully. It wasn’t difficult to decide not to ask where they’d gotten it.

Despite the easy teasing and affection they’d offered each other upon reuniting, the drive was surprisingly quiet. Not knowing where they were going, and actively trying not to piece it together, Steve stared out the window at the commuters making their way home. In the back, Sai was fussing with one of his gadgets, and Sasha kept shooting glances at the both of them. It only stopped when Steve reached over and took his hand off the automatic stick shift, squeezed, then laced their fingers together. Tension visibly went out of Sasha’s shoulders, and Steve sighed. He was going to have to deal with this sooner or later, but he wasn’t sure he wanted Sai to witness it. 

When he woke, Steve was startled mostly because he hadn’t realized he was falling asleep. It was dark, traffic nearly non-existent. He didn’t recognize where they were, but then again he could hardly see anything off the two-lane road they were on. A glance at the clock and he stared. It was nearly two in the morning; he’d slept for over seven hours.

Pulling his hand from Sasha’s, Steve rubbed at his eyes and felt steel grey eyes glance in his direction.

“Sorry about that,” Steve said, “Guess I was more tired than I thought.” 

“When did you last sleep?” Sasha asked.

“You were there last time,” Steve answered easily and didn’t miss the way Sasha flinched. He didn’t feel guilty for it either.

Instead of commenting, Sasha pointed into the back seat.

“We stopped and got that phone, plus some food. It’s back there with Sai.”

“I slept through a stop?” Steve asked, a little incredulous. Apparently he had been _exhausted_ and hadn’t even noticed. 

“You wouldn’t let go of my hand,” Sasha said quietly. “Sai had to run inside.” 

Steve blushed.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “You could have woken me.”

“No,” Sasha said quickly, “It was...nice.”

Twisting in his seat, Steve dug through the plastic bags on the floor board, quietly because Sai was sleeping, stretched out across the back seat. When he found the Stark Phone’s red box, he twisted back and unclipped his seat belt. Sasha glanced over, but he ignored him this time and settled with his back against the door, one leg underneath him and one knee pressed to his chest.

“How do you do that?” Sasha asked as Steve tore open the packaging. 

“Do what?” Steve asked absently.

“Make yourself so small.”

“I did tell you -”

“You were small before,” Sasha interrupted, “I know. Saw the picture.”

“But you don’t remember?” Steve asked. 

Honestly, he’d been trying not to think of Sasha as Bucky too much. It was just…really fucking confusing. How was he supposed to reconcile the one that got away, his best friend whom he’d killed, with the dangerous assassin he’d fallen in love with? It was too much, even for him, and there was so much more to focus on.

“No,” Sasha admitted quietly. “I don’t…have many intact memories at all of back then. It’s all bits and pieces, voices, or writing something down, or a smell. Some of the memories that I have seem…corrupted, jumbled up with other, later memories. Sometimes… I remember you smiling a lot.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile now.

“You used to smile a lot more, too.”

Sasha shifted uncomfortably, so Steve focused on the phone. Pulling it free of its case, he flipped it over and gingerly pried free the back. Taking off his cap, he pulled the extra SIM card Tony made him keep on him for when he broke his phones - he tried not to, really, it just _happened_ \- from its hiding place and popped it into the Stark Phone.

Unsurprisingly, it started to ring within thirty seconds.

Hitting answer call, Steve greeted fondly, “Tony.”

“Cap! You’re alive!”

“Not a captain any more, Tony. It’s just Steve.”

“Whatever. So dramatic, Rogers. So,” he switched, too casual, “Where are you?”

“You know exactly where I am Tony,” Steve said with amusement. Sasha twitched. “You started tracing this thing the second it came on line.”

“You caught me,” Tony chirped, “Just wanted to make sure you weren’t, you know, taken hostage. So you left with Mr. Frosty willingly?”

Sasha twitched again and Steve tried not to laugh. He also realised that Sasha’s hearing - Bucky’s hearing - was as enhanced as his own and he could hear Tony.

“Yes,” Steve answered. “Did Natasha fill you in?”

There was a pause and Steve rolled his eyes.

“Nat? Did you fill him in?”

“As much as I heard,” Natasha spoke up. “Are you all right?”

“I haven’t stopped for an assessment yet,” Steve admitted. “Just woke up, actually.”

“Where are you going?” she asked.

Steve grinned.

“Not a clue. Forward, I think.”

“Ha ha,” Natasha said sarcastically. “Why are you calling if it’s not to come in?”

Steve’s smile fell.

“Nat, I don’t blame you. I know it was just orders.”

Sasha shot him another glance and the silence on the phone was heavy. 

“You’re okay, right?” Steve asked.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Natasha sounded exasperated, “You’re the one on the run. Did he, ah, tell you what he did?”

“Unsurprisingly,” Steve said dryly, “no. Whatever it is, I’ll find out, don’t worry, Nat. Has Ross made a move?”

“Not yet,” Tony answered his question, “but that doesn’t mean he won’t. When you and Bruce agree on something, you’re usually right.”

“Right, well, it’s not like we didn’t talk about this.”

“What?” Natasha demanded and he got _another_ look from Sasha. The guy was going to get them killed.

‘Eyes on the road,’ Steve mouthed irritably at Sasha.

“When I hacked S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Tony answered Natasha. “I found all those contingency plans the government wanted for when any of us went rogue. Ross submitted a brief proposing that Captain America, as government property, has to - “

“We get it, Tony,” Steve interrupted. “Also not why I called.”

“Then spit it out. Stop beating around the bush. That’s what you old people say, right?”

Steve rolled his eyes, but smiled.

“Cassell was Hydra. He was funneling that money you found, Tony. That’s why you two couldn’t track it down.” Sasha’s eyes cut to him again. “Killing him will have done some serious damage. I can’t give you everything now. Hell, I don’t even know it, but this is where we start. Keep an eye on his businesses, see if anyone tries to put them back together. See if any new revenue pops up for S.H.I.E.L.D. This time, we don’t stop until every last one of the bastards is run to ground.”

“You got it, Steve,” Natasha said firmly. “I wanna pull Sam in, is that all right?”

“Yeah, he’ll be happy to help.”

“Listen, Noah Calhoun,” Tony said firmly, “I want regular check-ins. I’ll keep you off the grid, but we get to know you’re still out there, alive and kicking, and that you haven’t gotten yourself killed. And don’t you try to say you won’t; I’m not gonna play the game where no one admits you’re suicidal, Steve. Not right now.”

Steve felt his heart squeeze.

“Okay,” he said thickly, “but what’s the _Notebook_ got to do with this, Tony?” Steve asked, trying to deflect how emotional the demand made him.

“How do you know the _Notebook_?!” Tony demanded. “Have you been watching _more_ movies with Sam? Oh my god, you’re cheating on me with Sam.”

Steve laughed, tightly, but happy.

“Tony, that’s not even possible. We’re not in a relationship.”

“You watch movies with him and not me! That’s… I don’t know what that is, but it’s unacceptable. When you’re done with playing the nomad, I’m gonna want movie nights. Lots of movie nights. You hear me, Rogers?”

“I hear you, Tony. Movie night.”

“Be safe, Steve,” Natasha interrupted before Tony could go on. “Regular check-ins.”

“Whenever I can,” Steve promised, and met Sasha’s gaze unflinchingly when he looked over. 

When he hung up, Steve flipped the phone back over, carefully prying free the battery and being even gentler with the SIM card. The latter he tucked back into his hat brim, deliberately letting Sasha see, and then put the cap and cell phone back in the bag.

“So,” Sasha said, too casual, too easy, “Who’s Sam?”

Steve couldn’t stop himself from laughing, pressing a hand to his stomach as it bubbled from somewhere deep. He laughed so hard and so long he had to wipe tears from his eyes and Sasha was shifting irritatedly in the driver’s seat.

Reaching over, Steve took his hand and kissed the palm.

“If I tell you he’s a friend, will you believe me?”

Sasha looked at him helplessly.

“Are you still mine?” he asked, all uncertainty and vulnerability.

“It was two days,” Steve said, exasperated. “I’m not going to move on in two days.”

“No, I don’t mean… Not sex, Steve. I mean… Everything else. Are you still mine?”

Steve melted, nuzzling into Sasha’s palm.

“I’ve _always_ been yours, jerk,” he said softly and watched Sasha - Bucky - take a long, shuddering breath. Turning the hand over in his own, careful of the velcro binding keeping the broken wrist immobile, Steve rested it against his knees and smiled when it didn’t move from where he put it. Carefully, he traced the lines on the palm, wondering how he hadn’t recognized them before. “I fell for you when I was fifteen. We’d been friends for, oh, nine years by then, and you’d gotten dressed up to go to the dance hall for the first time. A nice suit; worked at Lyle’s grocer for weeks after school to save up for it. You were,” Steve smiled, closing his eyes and letting himself remember, because it didn’t _hurt_ now, “so damned handsome. Everyone could see it and I… It wasn’t… What we are, it wasn’t allowed, but I fell for you anyways. Never seen nothin’ better than you in that suit.”

“I hate suits,” Sasha - Bucky - murmured sullenly. “I feel like I’m going to burst out of the seams any time I wear one.”

Steve laughed weakly.

“You weren’t quite so…buff then.”

“How was I then?” Sasha asked, voice hushed and fragile.

“Young,” Steve answered immediately, because he was. They were both so damned young then. It seemed like a million years ago when they were so young, so free, so goddamned stupid to think they had it bad. “Free,” he continued, throat going dry. “Innocent,” because that was true, too. They both had both been so innocent before…everything.

The hand on his knees trembled, fingers closing. Steve just gently pulled them open again.

“Would you,” Sasha cleared his throat, “call me Bucky? For awhile?”

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve said warmly, “Anything you want.”

“You gotta stop using that word,” Bucky complained. “You… Really? Fifteen? What about… Peggy?”

“Oh, so I can say her name now?” Steve teased, but he thought he finally understood why Sasha had been so upset when he was going to say goodbye to Peggy in D.C. “It was still you, you absolute jerk, that’s what _always_ means. Yeah, I loved her, still do, but… She was possible. Something I could have and be happy with. Not _settling_ , you don’t settle for a woman like Peggy Carter, but that love was nothing like what I felt, or what I feel now.”

Bucky swallowed, but he kept his eyes on the road this time.

“I believe you,” he said shortly, “About Sam. I believe you.”

“Good,” Steve said, “It’s the truth.”

“I know,” Bucky licked his lips, “I know I don’t have the right to ask anything from you right now, but… Steve, I need to know you’re not… What Tony said and… and how you jumped in front of that grenade today. I need you and I can’t... “

Steve knew what Bucky couldn’t, knew what he wanted to hear, but he didn’t look up. Still tracing the familiar lines of Bucky’s hand. He didn’t help like he would have before, didn’t try to absolve Bucky of the need to actually express himself with words. He needed to hear these words said aloud. Hear that he was needed by the man who had so recently thrown him away.

“Stevie, just… Promise me, you’re not gonna try to get yourself killed? That you’ll… You’ll remember you gotta come home to us.”

Steve closed his eyes, his heart squeezing hard enough it hurt. Curling his fingers in Bucky’s palm, Steve pulled his hand to his own lips and kissed the fingers hard.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Steve said around the knot that had formed in his throat, “Again. Then Natasha… There was no one left. _Again_. I can’t… I can’t care when I’m alone. All I want is to follow everyone else.”

The truck jerked to the right, off the road, and Bucky slammed it in park. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he leaned across the center and pulled their faces together so his forehead leaned on Steve’s. 

“You are _not_ alone,” Bucky said firmly. “Never alone. So many people need you, Steve-”

“You think I don’t know that?” Steve demanded, hating the pain that was tearing at his chest. Hating it more than anything. “Everyone always needs me. Needs _something_ , even when I can’t give it. They keep taking things from me, taking and taking untill I feel hollow inside. I just…” 

“I don’t need anything from you,” Bucky said sharply. “I just need _you_. There’s a difference.”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut. 

“You’re tired,” Bucky said sadly, fingers running through Steve’s hair.

Steve nodded, his breath hitching despite how desperately he was trying not to cry.

“You left,” he accused. “You left me alone and I can’t do it by myself.”

The sharp inhale from Sasha - Bucky - said he knew Steve wasn’t talking about just a few days ago.

“I didn’t want to,” Bucky said so quietly that Steve had to look, had to see him. Be sure he was still there. He was and, if the look in his steel eyes meant anything, he _remembered_.

“I know,” Steve said quickly, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “God, I know. It wasn’t your fault, it was _mine_ , but you were still gone. And then I came home to that fucking empty house and it was just like every other time and that fucking tea was there. Mocking me.”

“Mocking you?” Bucky asked, sounded confused. “I wanted… I wanted it to be… I don’t know, a comfort. You said it was…better times.”

Steve laughed shortly and dropped his hands again.

“It was the last time I had a home, Buck. With you. That’s why I like the stupid tea and I come home to find it in a dead house where...”

“Your family was gone.”

The quiet voice filling in for Steve’s failed one startled both him and Sasha. They looked back, finding Sai’s too-wise eyes watching them somberly.

“When’d you wake up?” Steve asked, trying to smile, but knew it wavered. At least he had managed not to cry.

“You swerve a guy’s bed off the road and that tends to happen,” Sai said sarcastically, contorting oddly in the back seat trying to stretch all those skinny limbs. Steve watched, smile returning. It looked like some kind of alien creature was stretching its tentacles out at random intervals, the angles impossible for a normal human being.

To Steve’s surprise, Sai sat up, tentatively reaching forward to ruffle his hair. The way he had taken doing to the kid. It immediately made his throat try to close up again.

“You're not alone any more,” Sai promised. “Where you go, we go.”

The kid’s blue eyes flicked to Bucky, Steve’s lover, friend, unrequited love, his _everything_. 

Bucky let out a long breath. “No way you’re getting away from us again,” he promised. “And I’m gonna figure out how to make this up to you.”

Steve swallowed, looking down and trying not to be overwhelmed by their affection. The upside to being with two men who hated sharing their emotions was they both quickly gave him an out. 

“We’re gonna need gas soon,” Bucky pointed out, turning around and putting the truck back in gear. 

Sai sat back, stretching again.

“Good, now I’m awake, I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” Bucky grumbled.

“You’re one to talk. Did either of you eat right yesterday? No. Okay, then. Shut up.”

Steve laughed, leaning back against the door. A glance his way and Bucky smiled, his eyes going soft. Now that he was looking for it, actively looking for it, Steve couldn’t understand how he’d convinced himself he could be anyone else. Then when Bucky reached over, took his hand and squeezed it, Steve couldn’t do anything but sigh quietly. They still had issues to resolve, but this moment was perfect.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 23

Bucky drove through the night, only finding a motel when the night sky turned grey, the first stirrings of day sneaking through the clouds. Steve stayed awake this time, just watching Bucky in the glow of the dash lights so he was able to get a good look at the place. The motel was some kind of privately owned operation, not part of any chain. It had seen better days. The paint outside was a bit faded and obviously dated, but there were little flower boxes along the long veranda and the grass beds along the gravel road were well maintained.

“Wait here,” Bucky said softly, making an effort not to wake Sai who was asleep in a horribly contorted position in the back seat.

Bucky got out the car, went to the back and pulled a bag out. Steve watched in the side mirror as he tied his hair into a low, neat ponytail and secured it with a black hairband. Then he pulled out modern looking, silver wire-framed glasses and slipped them on, along with a soft grey scarf that he wrapped around his throat. He knotted it with an artistic knot, letting both the long ends hang over his chest. When he straightened out he looked completely different. For one, he looked older, softer, the scarf masked the powerful line of his shoulders. The glasses gave his face new dimension so he looked a bit older, less dangerous, and more sophisticated. His simple black jacket, paired with the expensive scarf, now also looked more expensive, more classy. There was a difference in the way he walked to the front desk too, with his shoulders angled down, the length of his steps smaller, not prowling. It was more gliding, with his centre of gravity higher. The gait made him look taller, more willowy than he was. 

In the space of a few moments, with two simple accessories Bucky had changed from a wanted assassin into upper-middle class average citizen, possibly connected to art or fashion. Steve was more than a little impressed.

Bucky disappeared into the office and came back out ten minutes later with a key in his hand. When he returned to the car, he gave Steve the car keys.

“Bring the car around,” he instructed. “We're in room number thirty-one. I’ll go check it out.”

Steve did as he was told, parking the car and reaching to shake Sai awake. It was an entertaining experience all told. He shook Sai’s shoulder, watched the kid open his eyes and nod when Steve told him they had gotten a hotel room. The boy climbed out, tugging his bag with him, but the whole time, even though his eyes were open, Steve could swear there was nobody _there_. When Bucky gave the all clear, the boy shuffled after him, eyes blank, doing a creepily good impersonation of a zombie.

The hotel room was modest but clean. It had two beds, a small table, two chairs and a tiny countertop with an old kettle plugged into the sole electric socket in the wall. There were some modest paintings on the walls, but they were old, faded, and nothing special. 

Sai didn’t look around the room. He made a beeline for a bed, but stopped unexpectedly half a step away. He stared at the empty bed for at least fifteen seconds before slowly turning to his right to stare at the second bed. Suddenly his shoulders slumped. He looked more awake and so damned miserable that Steve became truly alarmed.

Without a word, Sai sighed gustily, turned around and shuffled back out of the room.

Steve looked to Sasha, who was crouching in the corner of the room rummaging through one of the two black canvas bags he had brought.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked. “Where’s he going?”

Bucky raised his head, obviously startled.

“Huh?”

“Sai,” Steve said slowly, reminding Bucky that there was a teenage kid they were supposed be to taking care of. “He just left. Why?”

Bucky stared at him blankly, either not understanding the question, or the intent in asking it. Finally he shrugged, turning back to his bag, pulling out what looked to be an aluminium bar with two big suckers at each end and something else that looked like a small pump.

“If he left, he'll come back,” Bucky muttered.

Steve gritted his teeth, irritated at how blasé Bucky was about Sai. He was just opening his mouth to give him a piece of his mind about ignoring the kid when there was a double knock at the door. Bucky’s head swung in the direction, but he didn’t move. After a pause, there was another double knock and Sai came shuffling back in, somehow looking even more miserable.

“Sai…” Steve started, but stopped as he realized that Sai had on his noise cancelling headphones, the cord sneaking down to his hoodie pocket and, likely, into his phone.

Sai looked at the first untouched bed again and sighed even louder.

“At least try not to wake me up okay?” 

With that he fell face down on his own bed, toed off his sneakers and went still in the space of half a second.

“What is he…?” Steve stared uncomprehendingly at him for a moment before turning to Bucky. By now, he’d pulled out an alarming amount of hardware from the bag and… Was that a mounted mini-gun? “What are _you_ doing?”

Bucky blinked up at him, somehow looking oddly like Sai in that moment.

“Uh...” 

He looked around, took Sai in at glance, and looked down at the pile of aluminium bars, suckers and mini-gun on the floor beside him. 

“One bed left for us. Head phones are for ignoring sex noises.” He pointed at the pile of equipment on the floor. “Security.”

Steve rubbed his face, took a deep breath and prayed for patience.

“Are you telling me, Sai thinks we’re going to have sex not five feet from him?”

Bucky stared at him blankly, then a little hesitantly said, “He’s got the noise cancelling headphones on.” It sounded as if Bucky was trying to humor Steve because he damned sure didn’t see a problem.

Steve sat down on the edge of the bed, running the palm of his hand over his face. Bucky acted so normal most of the time, so well-adjusted that Steve forgot that this man had been, well, _a man_ , for only the last five years. In moments like this he was reminded how he had to spell out all the rules if he expected Bucky to follow them.

“We’re not having sex with Sai in the room,” Steve declared firmly. “Not now, not _ever_.”

Frowning, Bucky eyed him, reading his body language the way he and Sai did more often than actually listen to what he said.

“But you gave the headphones to him for that purpose!” Bucky protested.

Steve glared. 

“Not while we’re _in the same room_.”

“You’re serious,” he said, the frown becoming a scowl. “It wouldn’t kill you to be more specific,” Bucky mumbled under his breath, ticked off. 

Steve groaned, running both hands over his face.

“I can’t set this kind of security up in two rooms; we don’t have enough gear.” Bucky tried again. “He doesn’t care. You do know that, right?”

Steve gritted his teeth. Took a deep breath in and a deep breath out.

“I care!” Steve exclaimed, ready to fight.

Bucky blinked.

“Okay,” he agreed easily.

This time it was Steve who blinked at the easy capitulation. For some reason, he had expected to have a fight on his hands. Or, maybe, he was trying to pick one. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed deeply.

“Think I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Okay, I’ll finish mounting the mini-gun the in the meantime.”

Steve stopped with his right leg still raised to take a step.

“Um,” he wanted to ask why, but settled on, “how?”

Bucky grinned at him, wide and free. It was stunning and Steve stared. He jumped up, fiddled with the construction he was assembling and grabbed one of the two chairs in the room. He dragged it in front of the door and climbed up. Then he attached the suckers to the room’s ceiling and, using the small electric pump, created enough negative pressure that they stuck fast to the surface.

Still grinning, he jumped down, gathered the mini-gun and something that looked like an electric rotating plate along with three black sticks. He got back onto the chair and easily affixed the rotating plate to the construction on the ceiling, then the mini-gun to that. Lastly, he attached the three pen-like sticks to the apparently modified weapon. They clicked quietly, then blinked red when Bucky flipped a tiny switch on the rotating plate before falling dark.

Steve was smart enough to understand that it was some kind of automatic gun with a rudimentary targeting system, but it didn’t really interest him as much as that smile on Bucky’s face. He just looked so pleased with himself Steve couldn’t be anything but fascinated.

“How does it work?” he asked.

Bucky shot him a wide smile, like a kid sharing a favorite toy. If Steve had been standing, his knees would have gone weak. God, but he was gone on this man.

“The three lasers are focused on the door and the windows. If any of them open before I disarm it, the gun will pump all of its ammunition in the direction of the detected movement. The rotating base allows for coverage of everything at the same time. The suckers were my idea. This way, we can take it everywhere we go. It’s easy to install _and_ easy to take off. Leaves no trace behind and if anybody swept the room beforehand, they wouldn’t be expecting it now.”

To Steve, it seemed a brutal measure for a bit of security, but he had to admit that in such a small space, it would be horribly effective. It was starting to dawn on him, just how efficient Bucky was in the field.

“And while the gun is spewing god knows how many bullets at your intruder, how do you plan to actually leave the place?” Steve asked curiously.

Bucky raised his metal arm in a cheery wave.

“This is the corner room. The walls are just wood and plaster, it would take seconds to punch through.”

Steve confirmed slowly, “Your planned exit point, in case of a trap, is through a wall.” 

Bucky nodded.

“Yes.” 

Steve stood, heading for the bathroom again.

“And Natasha had the gall to tell me _my_ ideas were insane,” he grumbled, pulling off his shirt.

Bucky took one look at him and immediately started tugging his clothes off.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked suspiciously, one foot in the bathroom already.

Bucky froze.

“Joining you in the shower?” he asked uncertainly, looking a bit like a kid caught with his hand halfway into the cookie jar.

Steve sighed.

“Buck, the shower is maybe seven feet away from Sai and this door.” Steve indicated the flimsy white door he was holding open, “And this is a joke.”

“But he can’t see us in there _and_ he can’t hear us with the headphones on.”

“Buck, as much as I want you, I am not having sex with you while Sai is practically in the same room. Not gonna happen.”

Bucky huffed, letting his fingers fall from his shirt.

“I should have left him in the car,” he grumbled going back to his duffle.

“He is not a dog!” Steve hissed angrily. “And if you even think of putting the kid outside, there will be no sex happening again _ever_.”

“Jesus, Steve, it’s just sex. It’s not gonna kill the kid; he knows exactly what we’re doing.”

“ _That’s_ the problem!” Steve snapped, hissing the words out in an effort not to wake Sai.

Bucky stared at him, face going blank for a second, before he said, “Down kitty. You know you look like an angry cat right now?”

Steve rolled his eyes, threw his shirt on the bed, and shut the bathroom door behind him. He made the shower quick. Though he had slept most of the way, he _still_ wanted sleep. His body was just tired. Between the emotional rollercoaster and the healing injuries, he was simply exhausted. Honestly, even if Sai hadn’t been in the room, he wasn’t sure he would have been up for sex. On top of that, he wanted Bucky to sleep. Not only did he have more injuries than Steve, he also hadn’t slept a wink in the last twenty-four hours. Maybe more.

Sighing as he turned off the water, Steve decided he missed his bathroom at home. The tiny hotel stall sure as hell wouldn’t have fit two super soldiers inside if he’d taken up Bucky’s offer. Shaking his head, he dried himself with the thin but clean towel. 

All told, it maybe took ten minutes before he opened the door again, intending to call out that the shower was free. Instead he froze the second he laid eyes on Bucky. He’d seen it before, of course, the scarring around the metal arm, how vicious it was. How brutal the whole procedure must have been to scar Bucky that badly. This time, it was somehow different. Maybe it was the lighting, or the fact that Bucky was unaware of him watching, but it shook him to the core. This was visible, _tangible_ proof of how truly damaged he was. How much Hydra changed him.

Bucky was standing by the bed rubbing at the scarring and rotating his metal arm, while his fingers dug into the scar tissue. Watching the powerful muscles of his back, the line of his spine, the way his head was lowered and the dark hair fell forward… Briefly, he looked like a stranger. It wasn’t even his body, just this cold, empty feeling Steve felt suddenly emanating from him. As if Bucky wasn’t really there at all.

“Bucky?” Steve called out finally.

Bucky turned around quickly, releasing his shoulder. Hiding the pain from Steve as he indicated the bathroom.

“You done?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah,” Steve said, stepping deeper into the room.

For a moment, he meant to let Bucky go, to let the strange moment pass them both by. Except, that’s how they’d gotten into the entire mess with the ambassador in the first place, ignoring what was right there. Ignoring the obvious elephants in the room. They had to stop, to _talk_ , or… Steve didn’t know, but he had to make sure Bucky knew he was fighting for them.

Catching the edge of the bathroom door as Bucky closed it, Steve pulled it back open. Bucky’s head snapped up to look at him, startled, but Steve couldn’t think of a thing to say. Placing his hand on Bucky’s chest, he shoved him back against the bathroom wall, stepped into his space and kissed him. It was hard at first, because Steve was so fucking angry still, but when Bucky’s hands closed around his waist, Steve pulled back, gentling. Yes, he was pissed off and he had a right to be, but he had to put effort into this or it would die.

“I thought you said no sex?” Bucky said when Steve pulled back.

“This isn’t sex,” Steve breathed against his lips before leaning in for another kiss. Bucky met him this time, nipping at Steve’s lips, but not pushing any further to make this something more. 

“We should get some sleep,” Steve murmured breaking the kiss for the final time and backing away. Bucky’s hands tightened on him for a moment, but then he let go. 

Feeling strangely out of sorts in the dark hotel room, Steve pulled his sleep pants from his bag and put them on. Glancing about the room, he sighed to realize Sai still hadn’t gotten under the blankets. Shaking his head, he debated getting him under, but decided against it. Who knew how the kid would react to being moved about in his sleep?

Crawling into bed, he took the edge closest to Sai’s bed. It was just a guess, but he thought Bucky would want to be near the door - nearest to anyone coming through. He tried to relax, really, but Steve had lived with his insomnia long enough he could feel it like a physical presence. No matter how tired he was, emotionally, physically, if it wanted him awake, he’d stay awake. That didn’t mean he didn’t try to fight it, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, keeping his breathing even, listening to the sound of the water in the bathroom. Listening to Bucky moving about, _alive_ after all this time. He hadn’t allowed himself to think if that was a blessing or not, not after all that had been done to him at Hydra’s hands. That was a rabbit hole Steve wasn’t sure he would escape if he ever wandered down it.

The door opened, light flicking off, and Steve rolled onto his side. There was only the dim morning light streaming through a crack in the black-out curtains the room sported, but it was enough to watch him dig into his own bag, drop his towel and pull on a pair of sweats. When he crawled onto the bed, flopping down face first, Steve smiled faintly.

“Can I come closer?” he asked, not certain if Bucky would want that, with the pain he’d seemed to be in earlier.

Sitting up enough to swing his head around, Bucky huffed in clear irritation and Steve smiled wider, not waiting for more permission before sliding across the space between them. Curling himself around Bucky’s side, he laid his head on his shoulder, arm over his back and the other curling about the flesh arm until he could link their fingers together above Bucky’s head.

They lay quietly for a time, Steve just listening to the heart beneath his cheek, the breath moving so steadily through Bucky’s lungs. This was what he had almost lost, _had_ lost once. It was...impossible to believe he had it back.

“You’re not sleeping,” Bucky muttered, face turned away so Steve hadn’t noticed he wasn’t either.

“How do you even know?” Steve asked.

The hand in his own squeezed his fingers. 

“Your heart is beating too fast.”

Steve chuckled, tilting his head to brush his lips over Bucky’s shoulder.

“I’d like to. Can’t.”

“Why?” Bucky asked, still not turning towards him, as still as a statue. It was, honestly, a little odd.

“If I knew, I would fix it,” Steve said honestly. “Saw a shrink once, Fury made me. She said it could be pretty fucking much anything, so that was, you know, a lot of help.”

Bucky snorted.

“Does your shoulder hurt?” Steve asked, sliding his hand up Bucky’s back so his fingers just brushed the scars.

Bucky tensed the way he always did whenever Steve got anywhere close to the area.

“No.”

Steve sighed, pressing his cheek to Bucky’s shoulder and keeping his breathing slow, calm. If they fought he would never get any rest.

“I don’t understand why you’d lie t’me about something so small.”

“I’m not in pai…”

“Why?” Steve interrupted.

“It’s not serious, Steve. Just...”

“Why?” he interrupted again. 

Each refusal felt like a blow, but Steve was ready to repeat the question as many times as he had to. Beneath him, he felt Bucky exhale, a slow, deep breath that travelled through his entire torso.

They were both quiet for a very long time. Steve waiting, Bucky either deciding if he would answer at all, or _how_ to answer. There was equal chances for both, considering how difficult Bucky found expressing himself these days.

“Feeling pain was...punished,” Bucky said into the darkness, his voice low and hesitant.

Steve frowned, not really understanding what Bucky was saying.

“But that’s… You have no control over feeling pain. It’s a biological reaction.”

Bucky breathed slowly, very slowly.

“For humans. For animals,” the words came quiet and slow. Bucky’s head was turned away from Steve so he couldn’t see his face. He wasn’t sure he wanted to though, wasn’t sure he could stand seeing Bucky’s eyes right then. “Feeling pain was...punished,” Bucky said again, “until I no longer felt pain.”

Steve’s hand closed hard on Bucky’s fingers. The implication, the statement was just… Horrible wasn’t appropriate. Logically, he’d known that what had happened to Bucky, to Sasha, was the worst of what humanity had to offer. Tony’s reaction, at the least, had told him that when he’d handed over the drive. Yet, Steve found he could still be surprised by the cruelty that Bucky had suffered. It took his very breath and he held on as if somehow, that could keep the horror away.

“I try to remember, to be aware of my body…but it’s easier this way,” Bucky admitted. 

“How can you…?” 

Steve swallowed his words before he finished his sentence. It wasn’t like Bucky wasn’t actually feeling the pain. He was. He was either dissociating from his body to a truly dangerous level, or was denying the pain. Pain was a survival mechanism, though. A way for the body to inform the mind that it was wounded, that it was in danger. 

“Do you know why it hurts?” Steve asked quietly.

“The scars,” Bucky admitted. “Massaging them helps. I think they botched the first attempt at attaching the arm.”

Slowly, Steve stopped clenching down on Bucky’s fingers, but it took conscious effort.

“Do… Would you mind, if I tried that? Massaging them?”

Bucky inhaled, turning his face towards Steve. There were dark bruises under his eyes but his face looked oddly calm in the darkness.

“Not today…but yes, I would like that,” Bucky admitted quietly.

Steve shifted so that he could press his forehead to Bucky’s.

“You don’t have to be in pain,” Steve said tightly. “You can ask for help. I will always help you. I will always help, Buck. Always.”

“It’s not that I hide things from you on purpose,” Bucky said, shifting to lie on his side, facing Steve. He dragged his thigh over Steve’s hip and pulled Steve closer, doing his best to curl around Steve protectively, as if it was Steve who was suffering. “I’m trying. I swear, I’m trying.”

Steve drug his hands over Bucky’s chest, feeling the smooth skin scattered with scars and hard muscle beneath. His eyes were burning and he couldn’t exactly say why.

“I remember a lot from my time with Hydra,” Bucky said quietly. “Almost everything from the nineties, at least. I don’t remember anything from my time in the Red Room or…before.” 

Steve perked up at those two words, Natasha first in his mind, but Bucky licked his lips and Steve made himself hold those questions inside. He was glad when Bucky’s voice became even quieter.

“The reason I fought remembering you so hard was because I was afraid I would remember…those years, too.”

“What years?” Steve asked carefully.

Bucky smiled a terrible smile, bitter and patient, but endlessly sad.

“The years it took to create the Winter Soldier. The years it took to strip me of basic reactions like expressing pain, or hunger, or even feeling them. The years it took to teach me how to kill and torture while feeling nothing. The years it took to give life to their creation, to…”

“Stop,” Steve said, pressing his fingers to Bucky’s lips. His hands were shaking. “If remembering me means you have to remember those things again… Maybe you’re better off…not knowing.”  
‘  
Steve could feel that small, sad smile return under his fingertips.

“The thing is, remembering you - being with you - it let’s me know I’m human. A person.”

“Buck...”

“I want to remember.”

Steve felt helplessly, hopelessly, struck by those four words. 

“You… You know I’m not going anywhere, even if you don’t?”

“It’s not about us, Stevie.”

Closing his eyes, Steve nodded slowly. If knowing the good was worth the bad, then there was nothing else to say. 

“It’s about me learning to live again.”

“With me?” Steve said quietly.

Bucky pressed his forehead against Steve’s, breath slow and quiet. 

“Yes. With you.”

_The End._


	25. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our wonderful, irreplaceable beta is NurseDarry; all hail the endlessly patient woman.

Epilogue 

Bucky knew it had been a terrible idea to agree to join Steve for movie night. The second Steve had called in, Tony had demanded to have one, and then the bastard had invited Bucky and Sai. When Steve had hung up, Bucky had made it clear he thought it was a terrible idea. Logistically, it wasn’t such a nightmare; they were in Los Angeles for unrelated reasons.They’d kept well off of anyone’s radar, but showing up at Stark’s mansion was unlikely to go unnoticed. 

Honestly, Bucky had expected Steve to demand he come with. Instead he’d just pleaded, then wore him down with a blow job. It was sneaky, underhanded, and Bucky really hadn’t seen it coming. He’d agreed, just to get Steve to stop _talking_ , and now here they were, pulling up outside this monstrosity overlooking the ocean that would probably separate from the cliff and fall right in if somebody inside it sneezed too hard. 

“How many places does he own?” Sai asked Steve. The kid hadn’t seemed either eager or reluctant to go, so long as Bucky was going.

“Too many,” Steve answered dryly.

Coming up on Bucky’s left, he linked their hands together, the same as he did every time he wasn’t worried they’d be attacked. Steve had a fetish, and Bucky was on to him. He made the plates recalibrate with a quiet click-clack sound and Steve flushed, glancing at the sleeve covering his metal arm. 

Bucky smirked at him.

“We could have stayed home. Would have been more fun,” Bucky needled gently, still unsure a little how to do it, how to tease so freely, to show affection like normal people.

Steve purposely looked away, but there was a hint of a blush on his cheeks. It let him know that he wasn’t crossing any of Steve’s lines. He was learning that there were a lot of them, and not all of them easy to recognize or understand.

“You don’t know you won’t have fun,” Steve countered.

“But the fun at _home_ would -”

“Buck,” Steve said sharply, “We’ve talked about this. Sai is _right_ there.”

“Yeah, Buck,” Sai said, mocking because the two blond punks were always teaming up against him, “I’m right here.”

“Shut up,” Bucky grumbled. 

Steve reached for the doorbell, but the door swung open before he could touch it. An odd artificial voice - JARVIS, Steve had warned them - greeted Steve, Sai, and, “Sergeant Barnes.” That was...surprisingly nice. He wasn’t really, even after a month with Steve at his side, letting the memories return. More than ever, though, he felt like _Bucky_.

Steve’s hand tugged, pulling Bucky inside and Sai followed. The house was sleek and modern, no expense spared on anything. Even the ceiling was opulent, carved wooden tiles, probably imported from Europe or something equally stupid. A subtle tension appeared between Steve’s shoulders and Bucky knew he was uncomfortable. He had been here before, however, and he led the way straight to the expansive lavish living room. 

Because Bucky had dawdled, they were the last to arrive. As soon as they entered the room, there was a chorus of, “Steve!” and Bucky felt completely on edge as five very dangerous people all stopped what they were doing and focused on them. 

The hand holding his squeezed, then surprisingly let go. Bucky felt oddly like he’d been stripped of his weapons, vulnerable as Steve walked away from them. Hands clapped his shoulders, Wilson and Romanov both pulled him into tight hugs, then the others, even Stark. Steve was so _easy_ with it. Bucky wouldn’t have even known where to begin, but the envy he felt was powerful. With a look at Sai, he thought the kid felt the same.

Then Steve turned back to them and held out his hand, beckoning.

“‘Bout time I introduced you all properly.”

Trying not to show his trepidation, Bucky stepped forward. The worst thing was, even though he was officially retired and no longer taking contracts, there was always an edge of violence sliding just under his skin. Sometimes it was only Sai or Steve that stopped him, made him calm down, let go. Being in the presence of people so outwardly dangerous was doing him no favors. His shoulders were tightening, face blanking. He didn't want to react like this, but it was the only way to keep his instinctive distrust at bay and to stay calm when people he didn’t know, were easily within striking distance. Steve took his hand as soon as he was near, pulling him forward before putting an arm around Sai and doing the same.

“This is Bucky and Sai. Guys, this is Clint Barton and Sam Wilson.” Bucky and Sai exchanged looks. “You already know Natasha and Tony.”

No one was surprised to hear his name, but Bucky hadn’t expected them to be. Steve was too close to them to keep that secret for very long. Stark already knew his identity anyway and the time limit for him to fess up went by a long time ago. Nodding a greeting, he saw Sai do the same. The Avengers greeted them warmly, but didn’t offer to shake hands, as if they’d been told Sai and Bucky wouldn’t want to be touched. 

“All right,” Stark clapped his hands, backing toward the bar, “I’ll get drinks for the late-comers. Beer for you two, and a virgin rum and coke for the kid?”

“That’s just a coke,” Sai spoke up suspiciously.

“Nothin’ gets past you, Annie.”

“Who’s Annie?” Sai asked, confused, but Bucky was focused on Steve. Pop culture references from after 1940 usually went right over his head, but he was glaring at Stark hard enough the billionaire actually turned away without answering Sai’s question. There was something there, something new Steve hadn’t told him, and he was going to have to find out. If left up to Steve, it could take weeks before he found the “right” way to talk about it. 

“Wait,” Wilson said, “are you telling me there’s three of you who don’t understand...culture?”

“They understand culture,” Romanov defended them, “just not _American trivia_.”

 

“Oh, that was low, Romanov. Low, I tell you.”

Sai raised his hand.

“French,” he informed the room.

Bucky raised his metal hand in solidarity and said: “Russian.”

“You were born and bred in Brooklyn! What kind of Russian are you?” Sam protested. 

Bucky only shrugged. 

“Spent over fifty years convinced I was Russian,” he grinned a slow smirk and adopted heavy Russian accent. “It’s a hard habit to break.”

“Nat doesn’t understand culture, either,” Barton spoke up, sensing the rising tension.

Bucky looked to Steve, who was no longer glaring at Stark’s back, and then at Wilson.

“So, you couldn’t pick an _original_ name at the party? And should I be reading anything into this?”

Blushing, Steve glanced at Wilson who was now looking at them curiously.

“Okay, apparently there’s a story here I need to hear. You usin’ my name for something, Rogers?”

“It was an undercover mission,” Steve protested, “He asked my name and it was the first one that popped into my head.”

“You didn’t think of one _before_?” Sai demanded, appalled.

Several sets of eyes glanced at the kid in surprise, though Romanov snorted.

“He did. Then he forgot it the second he laid eyes on Sasha. Bucky.” She looked at Steve. “I see what you meant now.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve mumbled, nodding to Stark as he returned with two beers and a glass of coke.

“Don’t leave us hanging,” Stark interjected, “Meant by what?”

Steve sighed, twisting off the cap of his beer. Bucky just eyed his, not knowing why he even had one when it was so ineffective.

“Trying to combine two people who you _thought_ weren’t the same into one person in your head.”

“Oh, right,” Stark muttered, “You all didn’t know.”

Steve narrowed his eyes.

“About that, Stark -”

“Right!” Tony quickly stepped away from them, gesticulating widely over his shoulders as he went, hands sketching abstract figures in the air. “A certain red-headed spy informed me that if there’s one thing the super-soldiers always are, it’s hungry.”

Haphazardly the gathered Avengers followed Tony. Huffing in irritation, Steve followed as well. Bucky started as he hadn’t realized Steve was still holding his hand until he pulled it away. Instinctively, Sai put Bucky between himself and all the strangers. It didn’t seem like a conscious decision, but it was something Sai had done as long they’d been together. What surprised Bucky was that none of the Avengers, even by accident, put themselves between him and Sai, or Sai and Steve. 

Catering to that Sai’s need for distance was second nature to Bucky after the years they had spent together, and he also headed to the island with that need in mind. The island counter they were led to groaned under the weight of a huge amount of food. There were pizzas that didn’t look as if they had come from a carton box, and spicy-looking rice dishes in fancy styrofoam containers, probably delivered from the kind of place for which you needed to make a reservation six months in advance.

Bucky was already salivating from the incredible smells, and he could see that he wasn’t the only one. Like a swarm of locusts, everyone descended on spread, tearing into the fluffy pizzas as if they hadn’t seen food in a month. He stood slightly agape when he saw Steve actually elbow Barton away from a salami pizza, and literally hunch over it and growl.

Barton bared his teeth at Steve and almost managed to tear a slice of the pie away before Steve jerked the whole platter away from the island.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to share?” Barton snaps.

“My mother taught me to survive during the Great Depression,” Steve shot back, his usual politeness left by the wayside.

“My God,” Sai whispered beside Bucky. He cast Sai a glance and saw him watching the spectacle with wide eyes and jaw hanging as low as Bucky’s own had been before the distraction. “It’s like watching a documentary on the feeding habits of wild animals.”

And it really, was. Steve was using his bulk to intimidate his competitors from his food of choice. He wasn’t even eating it, just piling it onto the huge platter already holding most of one extra-extra-large-sized pizza. Romanov was staunchly defending an orange-colored rice dish that looked to be laced with chilies. Barton had moved to the other side of the island and was now fighting Wilson for the pizzas sitting there. Stark had apparently hidden a carton of the expensive take-out, having ducked from the fighting early on. He now stood with his own chicken...thing in hand, proving that either his planning skills were definitely above average or he simply knew what his fellow Avengers were capable of in the face of food.

They watched in silence for a little while, before Sai’s stomach gave a loud grumble.

“You think we could get in there too?” Sai asked tentatively, taking a small, half-step forward.

Bucky snorted.

“No way. I’m only armed for self defence not outright assault,”

Sai made a morose sound, but began to prepare himself to wait out the insane people when Steve turned around. Loaded down with heaps of food, he directed that wide brilliant smile of his their way. This smile was Bucky’s favorite, one he didn’t know he had missed until he saw it on Steve’s face again.

All but jogging back to them, Steve extended the loaded plate like spoils of war and proclaimed proudly, “I got us something to eat!”

Bucky…stared.

There was a blush on Steve’s face. A small one, high on his cheekbones, but it made him look warm and proud. He was; he was proud of himself, so uncomplicatedly happy in that moment that he looked almost transcendentally beautiful. Vaguely, Bucky was aware of Sai making a harrumphing noise, perhaps a sigh, and the kid took the whole plate from Steve, staggering a little under its weight.

Somebody was calling Steve’s name, but just like Bucky, Steve was incapable of looking away. Bucky had no idea what expression on his face had captivated Steve, but his hunger was all but forgotten. Looking away from Steve was the last thing he wanted to do now. 

“Don’t bother,” Bucky heard Sai say from somewhere behind and to the left while walking away. “It’s gonna take a while.”

Bucky didn't wait to hear more. He reached out to catch a metal finger in one of Steve’s belt loops and pulled him towards a dark corridor. It was an assumption that it would lead deeper into the house, though Bucky didn't care about anything but being at least a little out of sight. All that mattered was Steve wouldn’t want his friends or anyone really, to see. Personally, he didn’t care what they thought, but Bucky was learning to spot Steve’s lines even when he didn’t spell them out.

Steve allowed himself be dragged into the shadows without protest, the blush on his cheeks growing deeper. Only as Bucky pushed him against the wall as soon as they were out of everyone's direct line of sight, did he make a soft sound. Slotting his mouth against Steve’s, Bucky pressed them chest to chest and spread his hands over the hard stretch of Steve’s ribs. Their bodies were fitted so tightly together he could feel the heat off Steve through all the layers of the clothes they were wearing.

When Bucky pushed his knee between Steve’s thick thighs, they spread easily for him. Steve’s hands closed tightly over his shoulders, pulling them even tighter together. Another small sound was pressed into Bucky’s mouth as Steve’s own opened. Steve accepted him without shame or hesitation. It always, always made Bucky’s heart stutter.

They were kissing increasingly harder, wetter, Steve’s compliance pushing Bucky to take more, to see just how much Steve would give. He would give a lot, it seemed. Even here, even now, he let Bucky take. Let him push.

Bucky knew he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t push, especially here, but he couldn’t stop himself. Not because of the Avengers and the claim they had on Steve, but because of Steve giving him whatever he asked for so readily.

“Kitten,” Bucky whispered between kisses, pressing himself harder against those perfect muscles, feeling how Steve’s cock was starting to fill against him.

At the word, Steve’s pupils dilated rapidly and he gasped, melting between the wall and Bucky, letting Bucky keep Steve upright only by the press of their bodies. Bucky only ever called him that when they were playing; it had become a sign of sorts. A codeword that made Steve give his control of himself into Bucky’s hands almost instantly. 

Steve’s pupils were blown wide, eyes fluttering, but he managed to gasp out, “Here?”

“Just a little,” Bucky murmured. 

He wasn’t going to push this too much, aware enough of social norms to know that actually having sex in Stark’s house was a bad idea. But he needed this. Bucky needed to see Steve so biddable under his hands. There was a kind of safety in the knowledge, the bone-deep conviction, that Steve would give him whatever he needed.

Steve made a strained, pleading little sound, but didn’t resist. He even pulled Bucky’s head closer when he lowered his mouth to one pec which strained against the thin cotton shirt. Latching his mouth over the now-erect nipple he could see, Bucky bit right through the cloth, sucking until Steve was making raspy little sounds trying to keep quiet. His hips were undulating against Bucky in sharp little jerks, cock hard under denim. On Bucky’s shoulders, Steve’s hands opened and closed spasmodically as Bucky spread his mouth wide to take as much of Steve’s pec as he could. It was filthy and wicked, and Steve loved every second of it.

Eventually Bucky had to let go as he felt himself slip deeper into Steve’s heat than he had intended. He tore his mouth away from Steve’s chest, pressed his lips to Steve’s cheek, panting against Steve’s skin hotly while pressing himself against all that hot, tense muscle. He could feel how hard Steve was in his jeans, his cock pressing a line of heat into Bucky’s stomach. Steve’s heart was pounding, his carotid artery fluttering madly in his neck. His head was thrown back, resting against the wall, his eyes half-closed and pupils completely blown, lips slightly swollen from their earlier kissing, lost and exposed and all for Bucky.

Bucky dragged dry lips over Steve’s cheek, against the sharp jut of the man’s jaw and lower to that place where Steve’s pulse could be seen so clearly under flushed skin. He pressed his lips there, not sucking, just holding the contact, simply breathing against that warm, familiar scent. Feeling Steve’s pulse.

Slowly, he withdrew his knee from between Steve’s legs, stroking his side with long, even caresses. Calming, grounding, bringing Steve back to him and to himself.

“Steve,” he said, shocked at how raspy his voice was.

“Jesus,” Steve said after a few more moments of simply breathing.

“Intense?” Bucky asked, still close, still pressing Steve against the wall, knowing he would need it.

Nodding, Steve closed his eyes and let go of Bucky’s shoulders. He lowered his arms and spread his palms against the cool wall behind him. Bracing himself, helping Bucky calm him down and making no move to pull away.

They were both too excited to rejoin company, so Bucky did what he did best. Even though Steve hated it with a passion, disconnecting from his body came easy to Bucky. Easy enough that in just a few moments his body was as unfeeling and unaffected as a block of ice.

Steve made a despairing little sound.

“I hate it when you do that,” Steve murmured, his voice still raspy, but eyes once more alert.

Bucky pressed a small kiss to the corner of his lips, deliberately not allowing himself Steve’s mouth again.

“It’s useful.”

“You mean easier,” Steve sighed, dragging his palm to Bucky’s hip and curling his fingers around the curved bone.

They’d had this argument, discussion, whatever they wanted to call it. Steve thought there was some trade off, some consequence every time Bucky used the cold to detach. He thought it was dangerous. Bucky couldn’t be sure he was wrong, but he didn’t see a point in ignoring a useful skill. Thankfully, Steve didn’t seem to want to argue tonight because he just shook his head and adjusted himself in his pants.

When he went still, Bucky frowned.

“What?”

“There’s,” Steve groaned, hitting his head back against the wall with a loud thump and blushing, “My shirt. I’m gonna have to go change or… I have to change. Go back and distract them, or just...make an excuse for me.”

“Alone?” Bucky didn’t like that idea at all. “They’re your friends.”

“I’m not going out there like this and it will take too long to dry. You did it, deal with the consequences.”

 

Bucky sighed, but leaned in for another quick kiss.

“Fine, send me out alone to get eaten, why don’t you.”

Steve rolled his eyes, blushing even still.

“They aren’t wild animals.” 

“You say that,” Bucky protested, “but I saw you all going for that food. I’ve seen actual wild animals with better table manners.”

Steve snorted a short, helpless laugh.

“Go and be a proper distraction.” Steve pushed against his chest half heartedly.

“Eh, it’s not like I wouldn’t go to face said actual wild animals for you, so what the hell, right? I’ll go.”

That earned him a smile, shy and embarrassed, but a smile.

“I love you,” Steve said easily. “I’ll be back quick as I can.”

Though he didn’t say so, Bucky hoped that was true. Reluctantly, he let Steve off the wall, steeled himself, and marched back to the party. Sai was sitting across from Wilson, shrugging a shoulder as Bucky walked in. The other Avengers were scattered about the room, but all of them glanced his way, took in the lack of Steve, and visibly came to the decision not to say anything. It was more trusting than Bucky would have been.

When Sai saw him, he mumbled some excuse to Wilson and hurried over, peering behind Bucky for Steve.

“Out at the car,” Bucky explained vaguely, “Needed to…” He trailed off as Sai walked around him. “Where are you going?”

Sai only glanced his way.

“You ditched me first; deal with it.”

Bucky started to roll his eyes, but tensed as it occurred to him both his guys were now going to be outside, without cover, and probably not paying enough attention to anything around them. Anything could happen. Hydra was battered, but not completely stamped out. Then there was Ross and all the other people who called both Captain America and the Winter Soldier enemies. It wasn’t like Steve’s friendship with Stark was a secret, or the location of Stark’s home, for that matter.

Shoving his hand through his hair, Bucky glanced at the other Avengers as his anxiety grew. Technically, Bucky could say he’d given Steve’s excuses. The other Avengers would have heard him tell Sai that Steve went out to the car. He could follow without guilt, make _sure_ they were safe. Make sure no one would take them from him.

Turning on his heel, he followed Sai and Steve toward the front door.

“Are they ditching already?” he heard someone ask; Barton or Wilson, he didn’t much care at the moment.

“Steve would say goodbye,” Natasha sounded stern, “Let them have a minute.”

In the front hall, Bucky eased the door open and slipped into the shadows of the walkway outside. A quick look around showed no one hovering, Steve and Sai at the truck, the former with his shirt already off as he searched for another white one. Bucky couldn’t help lingering over Steve. Taking in all those impossibly perfect muscles on display. He knew he was quite fit himself, but Steve’s body was ridiculously beautiful and perfect. Sai was leaning against the wheelwell, arms and ankles crossed. His head was lowered, blond hair falling forward and hiding his eyes. The way his body was tilted suggested his focus was on Steve, even though Sai wasn’t looking at him directly. 

Another, slower look and Bucky didn’t see anything unusual. No suspicious vehicles, no one loitering in the street, no flashes of light off scopes or binoculars. Probably safe. 

Probably.

Instead of joining them, Bucky shifted deeper into the shadows. It was safer to keep watch from here, ensuring anyone watching _them_ wasn’t aware there were eyes looking back. Though he knew he would hear Steve and Sai talking if he stayed, but he wasn’t planning to eavesdrop. That just sort of happened, more often than not. 

“If it bothers you,” Sai’s voice floated to him, “you shouldn’t let him do it.”

“It’s not that simple,” Steve replied, “and I’m fine.”

“You don’t let us get away with that,” Sai threw back, “Why should I let you?”

“With what?”

“Obfuscating till we're blue in the face?”

Bucky had to keep himself from snorting out loud; Steve was like a damn terrier when he thought one of them was upset.

“This...Sai, it’s...not something I should talk about with a teenager.”

“I know more about sex than you do now, or ever will.” Bucky could picture Steve wincing. “Nothing you say is going to bother me and who else are you going to talk to?”

“Planning on talking to Bucky, actually,” Steve said dryly. There was a flash of white above the bed that was probably Steve pulling on his shirt. “Sai, I really am fine. I’m embarrassed and a little pissed off at myself, but that’s all.”

“That’s all?” Sai’s voice was tight, a little too high for Bucky’s liking. The kid was upset. “A _little_ embarrassed and angry with _yourself_? Steve, you let him… I don’t understand. He does to you what they did to me.”

Bucky’s head jerked up. He could feel his eyes go wide. Sai thought what he and Steve did was the same thing he was forced into as a child? 

From the sharp sound he heard, Steve was similarly affected. There was a beat of silence and Steve came completely into view, catching Sai by the shoulders. Sai stood defiant, though. His arms were still tightly crossed, shoulders held back, jaw set. Fully prepared to argue his point if Steve tried to dismiss him again.

“Nonono. No, Sai, it’s _nothing_ like that,” Steve insisted, voice earnest and practically pleading, “I know there’s - We do a lot of…” Bucky swallowed, closing his eyes. “Okay, okay. Look, this isn’t easy for me to talk about, all right? Especially not with you, but you… God, Sai, he would never hurt anyone like that. Not _anyone_.”

“I know,” Sai sounded miserable, “but I don’t understand because it _is_ the same thing. The same thing except you want it and I… Is there something wrong with me that I didn’t?”

“No,” Steve’s voice was iron, “There’s _nothing_ wrong with you. You were a child for god’s sake! There is no way, no actual, biological way you could have wanted sex, much less what was done to you! I’m an adult, psychologically and biologically mature and capable of making decisions about my own sex life and enjoying those choices.” 

The difference was so obvious it never even crossed Bucky’s mind that Sai couldn’t see it. Maybe he still couldn’t because Steve spoke again without getting an answer from Sai, his voice tight with tension and embarrassment.

“Bucky and I; it’s a kink. You know kinks?” Bucky could picture Sai’s ‘duh’ face. “Well, it’s...a kink, what we do. We both agree to it, though, and it’s not always like that. Not always where...I,” Steve’s voice was the one that went high this time, laced with acute embarrassment, “submit and it’s a choice I make, all right? An active choice, to give myself to him. You didn’t get a choice, and that’s another difference here.”

“Except he upset you.”

“No,” Steve protested instantly but it was a knee-jerk reaction, Bucky could tell. Sai probably could too because, after a moment, Steve’s answer changed to, “Maybe.” 

Steve turned, leaning his back against the truck bed next to Sai. 

“I’m not all to sure what happened. I wanted it… It being…”

Sai took pity on Steve as he floundered yet again.

“You don’t have to -”

“No,” Steve blew out a hard breath, “I know I don’t, but I think you need to hear it. It’s just words, right? Not gonna kill me,” Steve next mumbled something that sounded like ‘probably’ before continuing. “So, uh,” Steve cleared his throat, voice tight now, “like I was saying, I like to...submit to him. He… I don't even have to say anything and he just knows what I need or...want. Letting go… Not having to make any decisions, and just whatever he wants, anything he wants. It’s...easy isn’t the right word because that implies it’s not what I want. It’s _good_. I can let go and just...be with him. No expectations, no need to always be paying attention, just...be and feel what he wants me to feel. There’s a thrill in that, in that complete lack of control. For me anyway.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair.

“Truth be told, most times I think he needs it as much as I enjoy it; knowing I could argue, or fight back, or...whatever. But I don’t because… It’s him. I give him everything, no questions, no hesitation, because I _want_ to be his. Is this...making any sense?”

“A little,” Sai said hesitantly. “I guess I’m not sure what happened then. If you could say no -”

“And I can and have,” Steve said quickly.

Bucky huffed quietly. Steve told him no _often_. The ornery bastard still refused anything more than a cuddle whenever Sai was anywhere close. Close enough to hear, or, god forbid, see.

“Right,” Sai took a breath, “but you didn’t, and now you’re upset.”

“This is the whole part I’m supposed to be talking to Bucky about,” Steve grumbled, “You’ve heard us talk about the lines? The boundaries I’ve got that I need him not to cross?”

Sai nodded.

“Well, it’s a little like that, I guess? There are boundaries in sex, too, but the line’s sometimes...really fuzzy. I like...when he pushes those. Honestly, I think I like him pushing even more than he does. I love how he...walks that line where...I’m thinking yes _and_ no. I want it _and_ I know we should stop. I mean, yes, I’m embarrassed now and I’m irritated because I probably should have stopped him, but if we went back and did the whole thing again I don’t actually think I would.” Steve shoved a hand through his hair, mussing the carefully-styled locks further. “Which is ridiculous, by the way, and part of why I’m so pissed at myself. How’s he supposed to trust me to tell him to stop if…”

Vaguely, Steve waved at the house, the situation, perhaps just everything in general, and Bucky frowned. He hadn’t exactly liked what he’d overheard; that Steve was angry at himself for what they’d done together. Steve had never had problems refusing Bucky things he didn’t like, so it bothered him that Steve had admitted to wanting to say no, but not following through. It…wasn’t a situation Bucky had even considered before that moment.

“Oh,” Sai said with enough emphasis that said he finally understood. Bucky sure as hell didn’t.

“Oh.” Steve sighed. “So, we’ll talk about it and he’ll listen. He always listens, Sai. Maybe doesn’t understand, but…” Steve shrugged. “Someday you’re going to have someone and if they don’t listen, they aren’t worth it. You’re going to have a lot of...stuff to work through. Okay?”

“I don’t think I will,” Sai said quietly, again turning his face down. His shoulders were slumped now, the fight going out of him.

“What? I’m sure you'll meet some -”

“You don’t get it,” Sai interrupted sharply, “I won’t get anyone because I don’t _want_ anyone.”

Bucky frowned at that particular tone and a glance toward his guys showed Steve was frowning too.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked. 

Sai sighed loudly, uncrossing his arms turning from Steve, leaning back and looking up into the night sky, avoiding looking at Steve entirely.

“I watch porn sometimes,” Sai said gloomily.

Steve blushed, frowned, before opening and closing without a word coming out, sensing another layer to this confession. Bucky knew what that would be even before Sai started talking. Sai was the master at reading body language. He read it by instinct; a skill honed in early childhood. Bucky had been taught that same skill as the Winter Soldier. He had seen the signs, or rather the complete lack of signs. 

“I watched all kinds of it,” Sai went on, speaking with an even, calm voice. However, his breathing was a little too controlled, too even to be honestly calm. “Straight, gay, vanilla, all manner of kinks… From professional to amature. They don’t do anything for me. I could as well watch paint dry for how much it affects me. So I don’t think finding anyone…is my thing.”

This was news to Bucky and he shifted restlessly. His own libido had been in high from the moment he’d first had sex after escaping Hydra’s control. If he saw attractive people, he wanted to have sex with them. If he saw porn, he wanted sex, or to at least jerk off. Rarely a day passed without him getting randomly hard. Porn certainly wasn’t something he could just ignore, unless he detached himself from his body. 

“Sai…” Steve started, his face shattered. “It’s… It doesn’t mean anything. The porn thing, I mean. You’re incredible at reading body language and emotion and porn is usually staged and fake as shit. I don’t really like porn myself. And…maybe you...subconsciously recognize that something is off. Maybe you don’t even really register it as something, um, sexual. One day that might change, but, you know, if it doesn’t...that doesn’t mean you’ll be alone. You can love someone and not have sex with them. Just like the opposite way round. That’s...that’s where the whole talking about what you… _like_ comes in.”

Sai laughed suddenly.

“You really hate talking about sex, don’t you?”

Steve made yet another face, ducking his head and scuffing his toe against the pavement of Stark’s drive.

“It’s just… You know, I have no idea how Bucky can be so… crass! We were raised where you don’t talk about sex. Hell, _married_ men and women didn’t even sleep in the same bed. I’m sure all the...stuff...people do now was going on then, but if you talked about it at all, it was in innuendos and I don’t mean _today’s_ innuendos. Real ones, metaphors and... And now he _can_ , just spews unbelievable filth at the slightest provocation!”

Sai snickered, but it was a nervous kind of chuckle.

“I think a lot of that…is my fault, actually,” Sai said, turning to look at Steve from the corner of his eye.

“How can his libido be your fault?” Steve asked, spreading his hands to show off how…much there was of Bucky’s libido? Bucky had no idea.

Sai sighed.

“Did he ever tell you how we met?”

Steve winced.

“Yeah. It… I’m sorry, Sai. So very sorry.”

Sai shook his head, waving Steve’s concern away.

“Not that, what happened later?”

Steve frowned. Bucky realised that he hadn’t told Steve much about the years directly after his defection from Hydra. He…had reasons not to. Steve still became upset when he did something as simple as disassociating. It was tempting fate, rubbing Steve’s nose in the fact that he hadn’t been a…person for very long. 

Bucky internally winced because he could already see where this was going.

“Not really,” Steve admitted. “I try not to make him tell me anything he’s not ready for.”

“It was weird, I can tell you that. There I was, scared out of my mind, going through horrible withdrawal; and there he was, dressed in combat gear, barely disguised as regular clothing, armed to the teeth, hyper-vigilant, jumpy as all hell, not speaking or making _any_ goddamned sound. He didn’t speak to me, but when he wanted me to move, he just picked me up by my clothes and put me where he wanted me to be. He never yelled at me or hurt me but it never even crossed my mind to oppose him, you know?. He acted like no man I’d ever met before.”

“You were afraid of him?” Steve asked gently.

Sai shook his head, but then contradicted his own reaction.

“Maybe at first, but I was scared of everybody so that didn’t mean much. And the longer we were together, the more…jumpy he was. I could tell he wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t even really resting. His hypervigilance was through the roof and he was wound up so tight I eventually started fearing _for_ him, not _him_.”

Sai rubbed his palms over his thighs nervously.

“I brought Sasha his first hooker,” he blurted. “He was just so _tense_ …and the only thing I knew by at that point was sex. I barely knew how to read, didn’t really know how to write, but I knew that…men were calmer after an orgasm. He always gave me ridiculous amounts of money for whatever we needed...so I brought him a hooker.”

Bucky smiled a little at the memory. Sai had brought that woman into their hotel room and left Bucky with her, telling him that she knew what to do. What she was supposed to do with Bucky was outside Sai’s realm of knowledge or experience, but if the kid insisted, it wasn’t any skin of his nose just to go with it. That first time, after that hooker had given Sasha his first blowjob, the rush endorphins and serotonin had calmed the ever-present ants crawling under his skin. He hadn’t know that at the time. All he’d known, and it wasn’t difficult to figure out, was that sex made him feel better.

“And you think this has made him, what, hypersexual?” Steve asked, sounding more skeptical than Bucky expected.

“He started getting hookers a lot after that. Male, female; anything that struck his fancy. Later, he started picking up guys…but there were still a lot. Before you, it was someone every other night when safe.”

Steve looked a little like he’d just bitten into a lemon, so maybe Bucky didn’t admit to just how often he had picked up partners. Steve shook himself from his stupor quickly enough though.

“Look, you’re usually the expert on these things, but, this time, take my word on it. It’s not your fault.”

Sai scowled, looking fully at Steve now.

“And how do you know?”

“Well, I might not know sex the way you do, but I’ve been an expert on Bucky nearly my whole life. My Bucky, back before...everything, couldn’t pass up a skirt to chase. Every night, when he had a day off, sometimes twice. You got any idea how much sex I listened to him having? Son of a bitch locked me out of my own apartment more than once so he could have his skirts. Why do you think I try to make sure you don’t hear anything? I mean, clearly I’ve done a shitty job at that, and I’m sorry. I know how irritating it is because the bastard used to do it to me. Anyway, my point is, it ain’t anything new.”

Sai snorted a quiet laugh. Steve always made the kid laugh more than Bucky. For his part, Bucky was not amused. What he remembered most from his past was Steve. How important he was. This memory… Bucky not only didn’t remember, he couldn’t even really reconcile it with what he felt every time he looked at Steve. To look for women when he could have _Steve_? That didn’t make sense and it clashed with what he _did_ remember: the ever-present sense of frustrated desire. Bucky knew that he had wanted Steve, even back then. It was a given that he had loved the guy; everybody had known Bucky loved Steve, but he always _wanted_ him, too. That was the source of the endless frustration.

This did explain why Steve was so adamant about having sex anywhere Sai could hear. 

“I think,” Steve went on, “the fact that you introduced some…physically pleasant event into his life probably helped him heal. I don’t know all of what was done to him, and honestly I don’t even want the details when the echoes are so...” Steve took a shuddering breath, noticing he had gotten off track, “but I bet it was good that he had something nice then. Something better than what he had known until then.”

Bucky missed whatever Sai said as the door behind him opened. Turning quickly, tensed to attack, he made himself relax again at seeing Wilson. Except then the asshole was opening his mouth and Steve would _hear_ and get all uppity about Bucky letting Sai and Steve take care of themselves. Lunging forward, he got his hand around Wilson’s head, the other over his mouth, and gave a significant look towards the parking lot before shoving the guy back inside and easing the door shut. 

“If you don’t want him to know you’re spying,” Wilson said when Bucky released his head. “You probably shouldn’t be spying.”

Glaring, Bucky withdrew several feet and realized that Wilson hadn’t resisted his attack at all. Whether from trust, fear, or Steve...Bucky didn’t know. The guy was an Avenger, so he doubted it was fear. With one of Steve’s friends, it easily could have been the third or first and he had no way to know. For some reason, it felt important that he did.

“If you thought I was spying, why didn’t you tell him?”

“I still can, if that’s what I think needs to happen,” Wilson answered evenly. “Must be exhausting, making sure you’ve always got eyes on him. Think he’s gonna run off?”

“What?” Bucky, narrowed his eyes. “No. I was making sure they were safe.”

“This is Stark’s place,” Wilson said slowly, “If anything had happened, JARVIS would have let us know.”

“And by then it could have been too late,” Bucky snapped. “They’re _my_ family. I take care of them.”

Wilson eyed Bucky, then took a slight step back. Not fear, Bucky decided, using body language to communicate that he wasn’t a threat. It was smart. Pointless, but smart. There was no way Bucky could _not_ classify Wilson as a threat. On a certain level, everyone he’d ever met was classified some level of threat anyway.

“And you don’t want him to know you were there because…?”

Bucky huffed.

“Because he thinks I’m hyper-paranoid, or some other big word, and need to relax.”

Lips twitching in amusement, Wilson nodded back to Stark’s living room.

“Then go relax. I’ll get your boys back inside.”

Hesitating another moment, Bucky nodded tersely. If Steve and Sai were inside, he could go back to the party. That was...that would be fine. Not perfect, not if he couldn’t keep an eye on them himself, but he could compromise.

Without Steve, the living room was a lot quieter. Stark and Barton were at the bar, bickering about targeting systems, or sights or something. Romanova was standing apart in a darkened corner before a huge window looking out over the ocean. She was a striking figure against the glass. Her hair was a slash of crimson against the pale backdrop of her white shirt, and the black pencil skirt only enhanced the femininity she emanated. 

What had him pause was that she was barefoot.

“So they’re your family now?” the Widow said as he came closer, not really looking at him, but on a spot somewhere outside.

Without hesitation, he said, “Yes.”

“I wouldn't know what to do with it if I had one,” she said.

Bucky snorted quietly.

“You never could lie to me, little spider.”

“Now that Steve’s back, movie time!” came Stark’s cry from the bar. 

Bucky didn’t linger with her any longer, just turned to join Steve and Sai in the lounge. If she wanted to lie to herself, it was her prerogative. He wasn’t going to waste precious time with the people he cared about because he was afraid to admit to himself just how important they were.

Natasha followed as the others headed for the semicircle of seats in the center of the room, situated around a circular coffee table. Sai hovered in the back, but Steve was at ease here, moving with Wilson and taking a seat at his side. Stark looked to be about to take the seat on Steve’s other side, so Bucky quickly hopped the back to snag it first. It was more than a little gratifying when Steve didn’t even glance over, just reached unerringly for Bucky’s hand once more.

Then Stark dropped himself literally into Steve’s lap. Even though Steve looked incredibly startled, Bucky couldn’t help but growl in anger.

“What?” Stark asked innocently. “This seat isn’t taken.”

“Tony what -?” Steve started, but Bucky wasn’t having this a _second_ longer. Shaking his hand free of Steve’s, he hooked an arm behind his back and yanked. At the same time, he put his metal hand on Tony’s chest and held him in place. Steve didn’t fight, though he did let out an undignified yelp, and ended up in Bucky’s lap. Stark just slid into his spot with a smug smirk.

“See? Told you the spot wasn’t taken.”

Steve looked down at Bucky and frowned.

“I’m not sitting here,” he declared.

“But your spot is taken,” Bucky pointed out, rather reasonably he thought. 

“You’re gonna do this now?” Steve demanded.

“Rogers, of course he is,” Romanov sounded exasperated, “Unless you plan to get ‘Property of the Winter Soldier’ stamped on your forehead, get used to it.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Bucky mused.

Steve rolled his eyes, but leaned in to give him a brief kiss. There was a chorus of ‘awws’ and Steve blushed. But he’d left little doubt who he had chosen to be with, and that was all that mattered to Bucky. 

“Better?” Steve asked against his lips.

When Bucky nodded, Steve said, “Good,” and slid off his lap, squeezing himself back onto the couch between the chair arm and Bucky. Bucky shifted to give him room, not caring how hard it pressed him against Tony because Steve had chosen his _left_ side. That meant no one would be sitting next to him, no one except Bucky. This time, he took Steve’s hand and did his best not to show how he melted when that earned him a particular little sigh.

“You are grown-ass men,” Wilson complained as he got up, having gotten squished when Tony had slotted in between him and Steve. Bucky smirked when he got up and moved to the opposite end of the couch next to Natasha.

“JARVIS?” Stark called.

As the screen came down, Barton asked, “What are we watching?”

“Bourne Identity, in honor of our special guest.”

“Should I be worried about that?” Bucky asked Steve. 

“Probably,” Steve answered, not making him feel better at all. 

Sai finally joined them, settling with his back against Steve’s legs. The kid seemed to crave contact now that he had it from a source he could trust. Not miding, never minding, Steve dropped his hand to his head now, sifting fingers through hair in need of a cut. Bucky never got tired of seeing his kid and his guy getting along so well.

Five minutes into the movie, Barton muttered, “That is _terrible_ grouping,” to Romanov and the silence never quite returned. The Avengers had plenty to say about the combat, the shooting, and critiquing more than actually watching the film. Bucky was grateful he wasn’t alone in these thoughts, but he didn’t care to discuss what was turning out to be, in his opinion, a rather boring movie.

Instead, he tuned it out along with the running commentary and watched Steve; watching Steve never got old. He loved Steve’s propensity for white, clingy shirts. They hugged his chest obscenely, making Steve’s nipples stand out against the thin fabric. The man himself was busy gesticulating, leaning around Bucky to explain something to Barton, and completely unaware of how it made his pecs flex against the cotton. Bucky still liked to call them tits, because it both embarrassed and turned Steve on, and they were, a bit, like real breasts. He could barely wrap his hand around one, and they were so sensitive. Or rather, Steve _became_ sensitive to them.

Especially after that afternoon a few weeks ago when Bucky tied Steve to the headboard with a piece of rope that didn’t have a chance at actually holding him, and then went to town on his nipples and his pretty tits. He’d bit at, licked, and touched them for hours, until Steve came from that, _just_ from that, Bucky playing with his tits for as long as it took. Steve dropped hard after that, so fast it made Bucky dizzy. He had fucked Steve then, when he was all sweet and shivery, his cock soft and spent. Steve never got hard again, too deep in the sub drop, but it was all the sweeter for it.

Bucky licked his lips thinking about how it felt not long ago to have Steve pressed against the wall, sweetly pliant and so damn hot, hard in his jeans, panting with want for Bucky.

“Why did they make a movie about you?” Sai asked abruptly, pulling Bucky from his thoughts to see the kid looking back at him.

Bucky looked at the movie and scowled. Bourne was currently facing a guy with several small stab wounds, likely from the pen that had been embedded in his hand. 

“This isn’t about me,” he protested. “You’re not in it.”

Snorting, Sai said, “Artistic license. It wouldn’t be as good with a kid running around as fucked-up as I am.”

“You’re not fucked up,” Steve protested automatically. 

Sai rolled his eyes with a fondly exasperated expression that mirrored Steve’s exactly.

“It’s about a guy who can’t remember his past, used to be an assassin working for shady fuckers -”

“Language,” Bucky scolded.

“- and becomes obsessed with a woman he’s _just_ met. She’s the whole reason he’s in this mess.” Sai argued reasonably. Faintly, Bucky thought that the kid could be a lawyer if he ever wanted to get out of a life of crime. ”If he’d just take that pile of money and run, stay low, we wouldn’t even _have_ a movie. How is this _not_ about you?”

All Bucky could think to say was, “I am not obsessed.”

“You are completely obsessed. Want evidence? Okay, how about fact that you’ve been staring at Steve and eye-humping him for the last twenty minutes. Have you thought about anything _other_ than sex since the lights went off? Like, you know, _the movie_ we’re here to see?” 

And now they had the attention of every single person in the room.

“Sai!” Steve protested, turning a brilliant shade of red.

“We all know you’re hot, Steve,” Wilson said; Bucky decided he hated him, “but he _has_ been eye-humping you this entire time.”

Romanov smirked.

“We were betting on how long it’d take you to notice,” she held out a hand each to Wilson and Barton, “He didn’t, so pay up.”

Steve rubbed his face with a pained expression. Bucky didn’t really understand why the man seemed so surprised. He made no secret of the fact he adored Steve and adored having sex with him. Besides, faced with a roomful of strange, dangerous people, he had two choices: think about all the ways he could subdue each and every one of them, or think about having sex with Steve. If Steve wanted to keep his friends happy and calm, Bucky needed a distraction.

“Is he always like this?” Barton asked Sai.

“Bucky?” The kid had taken easily to the new name, though he still called him Sasha sometimes, like Steve still called him Sashka when he was being sweet. Bucky didn’t mind; he rather liked it. “Or Steve? Because they’re _both_ terrible. You have any idea what it’s like living with two guys perpetually in the honeymoon phase? I come home to my headphones hanging off my doorknob more often than not, their not-so-subtle signal they’re going to be fucking and don’t want me to hear.”

“What do you mean ‘signal’?” Steve demanded, looking utterly mortified. “I haven’t… _I didn’t know this was happening._ ” He turned to Bucky, eyes wide and a little wild. “Bucky you can’t -”

Whatever else Steve was going to say was drowned in a sea of laughter. Which was good, because Bucky wasn’t about to stop dropping hints. Steve hated it when Sai knew they were having sex, but Bucky figured it would be worse if Sai heard the sounds he made.

“It’s effective!” Bucky defended himself. 

“That’s true,” Romanov agreed. “And a polite warning.”

Steve turned an even darker shade of red, meaning that gorgeous flush has spread down to his chest.

“I need another drink,” he muttered and stood, slipping away from Bucky and Sai toward the bar. Romanov passed her empty tumbler to Barton and the sniper took it, standing without batting an eyelid. Surprised, Bucky raised an eyebrow at the Widow and she shook her head. He was further surprised to find he believed her.

“Movie,” Sai informed him, turning back himself.

Bucky meant to watch, except he heard his name from the bar and couldn’t help but eavesdrop. Steve knew he had enhanced hearing, so it wasn’t like he would think the conversation private.

“So that’s Bucky, huh?” Barton said.

“This is him now,” Steve corrected. “He’s not the Bucky of my past, and he’s different from the Winter Soldier, too.”

“File says he’s a psychopath.”

Steve didn’t answer right away and that was a warning sign if Bucky’d ever seen one.

“He’s not a psychopath,” Steve said finally but his voice sounded strange. Thoughtful, and cautious, not the instinctive denial Bucky was half expecting. “He probably doesn’t meet the standard criteria for normal. I mean, his grasp of some notions is…limited at times.”

“What notions?” Barton pressed, his voice neutral.

“Empathy, emotions; he makes a very sharp distinction between his and not his. Anything in the second category is just an obstacle that he can power through if necessary. It’s… always easy to deal with.”

“Need me to give him the shovel talk?”

This time Steve laughed, but Bucky wasn’t sure what the shovel talk even was, so deciding if it was good or bad was impossible.

“No, but thank you. Had a version of one myself back in New York.”

“When the Ambassador...died?” 

There was exactly the right amount of pause to suggest Barton knew exactly _how_ he’d died.

“Made it pretty clear how much I like being left behind.”

“If you say so,” Barton said, followed by, “Thanks,” and returned to the couch a few moments later with a new whiskey for Natasha. Steve stayed at the bar. Another warning sign? Maybe pulling Steve into his lap had been going too far, but it hadn’t seemed like a big deal. A lot of Steve’s lines weren’t a big deal to him, though. Perhaps this was more to do with the conversation he had eavesdropped on earlier. It was coming back over and over, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was doing something wrong. Failing. Decades of conditioning meant failure was terrifying, and it was making him nervous and twitchy and even more possessive than usual. He needed to talk to Steve, or have him nearby, or...something.

Wilson got up, heading in the direction of the bar and Bucky did not want to have this conversation with him in ear shot so he stayed put.

“You hiding over here?” Wilson asked conversationally.

“Perhaps,” Steve admitted.

“It’s just sex, Steve,” Wilson sighed.

Good, so it wasn’t something Bucky had done. This was Sai’s fault.

“It’s just embarrassing, Sam,” Steve countered.

Sam snorted.

“Well, you look good. Happy. He _does_ make you happy?”

“Clint just came over here and asked if he had to give Bucky the shovel talk. I’ll tell you the shorter version of what I told him. I can take care of myself.”

“Slow your roll, big guy,” Wilson laughed quietly, “No need to get defensive. I’m not coming for your boy. I just worry about you. You aren’t known to keep your own well-being in mind.”

And wasn’t that the truth, Bucky still remembered that idiot taking a _grenade to the face_ during their rampage through New York.

“I’m happy, Sam,” Steve said so sincerely it made Bucky’s teeth ache, “Really.”

“Yeah? ‘Cause he seems pretty possessive. Like, unhealthily so.”

“I kind of like it,” Steve admitted quietly. Bucky couldn’t stop himself from grinning.

“He treats you like property.”

Bucky stopped grinning. Something hit the bar a little too hard and he had to resist not turning around to look. 

“Sam, it’s really none of your business.” Bucky liked the edge to Steve’s voice a little too much. Liked how Steve was defending him, defending _them_ , more. “But he acts like that because he’s trying to protect what we have. He’s got it into his head that I’ll suddenly realize I can ‘do better’,” Bucky could hear the air quotes without needing to see them, “and move on. No, it’s not healthy that he thinks he’s not good enough with everything we’ve been through, but it’s not really that surprising, don’t you think?”

“Probably going to regret asking this,” Wilson said, “what with how angry you’re getting with me -”

“I’m not angry,” Steve sighed, “I’m tired of all of you using his issues to question my judgement. The only one who acts like I’m capable of being stupid on my own is Natasha.”

“He hit you with a grenade, Steve,” Wilson pointed out, and it was a point even Bucky couldn’t refute. “And remind me, how many bones of yours has he broken?”

“I jumped in front of the grenade,” Steve threw back, “and I broke some bones, too.”

Wilson laughed.

“That’s really not the point, though it proves Natasha’s.”

Steve ignored the dig.

“What’s the point, Sam?”

“Are you sure he’s even capable of loving you? Loving anyone? And I mean _love_ , not obession.”

Bucky’s heart squeezed down and he had to carefully monitor his expression, his breathing. Had to keep himself from jumping over the couch and telling Wilson to lay the hell off. Then again, Bucky was glad Steve had friends who would stand up to him, question him, make sure he wasn’t being blindsided by his own ideas of what was right and wrong. He just didn’t want them telling Steve _they_ were wrong.

“No,” Steve answered flatly and Bucky felt his stomach swoop oddly, “I’m not. Does it matter? He needs me, he wants me and he minds the lines. I love him and I’m happy. It's enough and it should be enough for you."

“Okay.” There was a pause. “You know I’m only bothering you because I care, right?”

“It’s the only reason I haven’t punched you,” Steve answered. “If he heard any of this, he’d probably have a conniption, and I want him to get along with all of you.”

Woops. So apparently Steve thought he’d gone far enough away, or that the movie was loud enough to cover his conversation.

“God forbid,” Sam said, “I saw the recording of your little rampage through New York, thank you very much.”

“That ‘rampage’ had nothin’ to do with us,” Steve huffed. “It was all Cassell’s propensity for convenience over the welfare of the populace.”

“You’ve been playing the crossword again.”

Steve’s sigh of disgust was audible from even this far away.

“I _like_ the crossword! What’s wrong with that?”

“Makes you sound pompous when you use words like ‘convenience’, ‘propensity’, and ‘populace’,” Wilson teased.

“Those words do not make me sound pompous,” Steve retorted. 

“Does Steve sound pompous?” Wilson called, closer than he had been a moment ago.

“Only when he uses that, ‘I am Captain America do what I say’ voice,” Barton answered with a grin.

“See? Nothing to do with my vocabulary,” Steve said, apparently having followed Wilson to slide back into his spot at Bucky’s side. 

“You still sound like a windbag,” Wilson insisted.

Before Bucky could do so much as look Steve’s way, he pulled the metal arm around him and leaned his head on Bucky’s shoulder. A position he only indulged in when he wasn’t as all right as he wanted people to think. So Wilson’s concerns had hit harder than Steve had wanted the man to think. 

Bucky didn’t ask if he was okay, he’d get an ‘Of course’ no matter what the truth was here with these people around. Later, he’d find out and he’d make sure Steve understood how he felt. Because he had said it, hadn’t he? When he thought about it, though, Bucky realized that he hadn’t. Steve would often, letting those three little words slip out, and they always made Bucky’s heart race. He loved to hear it, that Steve loved him. It just…hadn’t occurred to him to say them back. It should have been obvious how he felt.

Unfortunately, the Avengers didn’t give him any more time alone with Steve. Admittedly, he couldn’t blame them. They hadn’t seen him in weeks, so there was always someone near, someone who wanted to talk to him. When the movie was over and everyone was still arguing about whether or not the movie was good considering it was so unrealistic, Bucky got Romanov alone for another moment.

“What’s a shovel talk?” Bucky made himself ask.

The smile she gave him was dangerous.

“That’s where we threaten to bury you six feet under if you hurt him again, James.”

Bucky frowned. Were they all suicidal?

Before he could ask, Steve was there, sliding his arm around Bucky’s back and nuzzling into his hairline. Hooking his arm around Steve’s waist, Bucky pulled him close and Steve sighed. It struck him that, back before the War, he never would have pegged Steve for being so damned affectionate. Another new memory to share later.

“I played a hand in that, too, Nat,” Steve said and Bucky smiled because he’d come over just to defend him. Bucky didn’t _need_ it, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t like it. “Might never have gone down like that if I’d told him we were investigating S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra.”

Romanov stared at Steve and then covered her face with her palm.

“You and your idiotic notions of having proof before making accusations,” she groaned. 

Steve opened his mouth, eyes flashing, but Bucky quickly covered it.

“No one wants to hear you deliver a lecture on the dangers of false accusations.”

Only when he sighed and rolled his eyes did Bucky let go.

“Wilson!” Tony said excitedly. “Barnes just shut Cap up! In the middle of a lecture!”

“What?” Sam looked up. “We are so keeping him now.”

Bucky wasn’t sure why, but that made him feel less anxious when Steve stepped away again, even if he did walk past Stark. Stark, who took the opportunity to slide his hand along Steve’s back, making Steve glance over and smile. How exactly was Bucky supposed to stop being a jealous ass if Stark kept _doing_ that? Frowning, Bucky glanced down at his untouched beer and wondered if that was exactly what Stark was going for. The Winter Soldier had killed his parents, but Stark wouldn’t hurt Steve just to get at him. Right?

Setting the bottle down, Bucky steeled himself for, at minimum, an uncomfortable conversation and, at worst, disappointing Steve. Stark was staring at him, a challenge in his dark eyes as he sipped from his whiskey. If this was some ploy to get him and Steve fighting, getting Bucky to pick a fight with Stark would probably work just as well.

“Need something, buttercup?” Stark chirped as Bucky walked up.

“Why are you doing this?” Bucky demanded.

“Straight to the point, huh?” Stark looked amused. “This is where I pretend I don’t know what you’re talking about. Then I think you threaten me and I tell you it’s harmless, all harmless. I’m taken, you know. Pepper’s great. Couldn’t be here, but she’d like you. Likes me, likes everyone, but you’re a jackass right up her alley.”

“So it’s a game, then,” Bucky said coldly, “You’re trying to hurt me by hurting Steve.”

Stark’s eyebrows drew together as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass.

“Hurt Steve? No. Why would I want to hurt Steve?”

“That’s what I don’t understand. He’s your friend, but you keep… You are deliberately trying to piss me off. To what end? The only end game I see here is getting me and Steve to fight about your...fucking… _whatever_ it is you keep doing.”

The effort at keeping his temper in check was already becoming exhausting. Yet Stark continued to just watch him like he was an interesting specimen. An experiment, or machine he was trying to figure out. It didn’t help. Too many people had looked at him like that for way too long.

Slowly Stark said, “You fought with him over _me_? How many times? You know he doesn’t even like me?”

Bucky stared. What was he supposed to say to that? Steve let Stark touch him when he didn't allow anyone to touch him so casually. What was Stark playing at? A blind man could see the connection, the _potential_ between the two.

Just as slowly as Stark, Bucky said, “You maybe exhaust him more than most, but…he _allows_ you to touch him. He doesn’t…do that. Not with Romanov, not with Barton. Wilson touches him first. You…honestly don’t see it? If it wasn’t me, it could be you.”

“Are you naturally this stupid, or did they train you in that, too?” Stark snapped, an instinctual rebuffal, but his eyes were getting wider.

“Christ, Stark,” Bucky hissed, “Who did he call when Romanov went missing? Wilson was in town, but he called you. You make him laugh and smile and just...please.... Stop touching him.” 

Frowning, Stark looked away at Steve, bouncing in place now with restless energy.

“How would you feel,” Bucky pressed, “if I did that to that Pepper of yours, and she let me?”

“Oh, Pepper can take care of herself,” Stark answered easily, “I have issues, but they’re not ones of inadequacy…” Stark trailed off and grimaced. “Well, you did say please, so I suppose I can relinquish the field.”

Tony downed his glass, raising both eyebrows as he turned away.

“My queen is hotter anyway.”

Bucky snorted his disagreement, turning to rejoin Sai. 

Steve spent a little more time with each of his friends, alone or in small groups. At first he thought he was sucking up the moment since who knew how long it would be before they did this again. Then, when Steve’s hand stayed too long on Stark’s shoulder and he spoke to Natasha completely in French, Bucky realized he was giving them whatever it was they each needed from him. Even Bucky knew he didn’t have to do that, that the Avengers would have just been happy just to see him, but Steve never knew when to quit giving. No wonder he was so tired.

When Bucky had had enough, when _he_ decided Steve had given too much, Bucky gave Sai a look. The kid immediately yawned, stretching before leaning back into his conversation with Stark with a little less energy. That was all it took. Steve’s eyes darted Sai’s way and within a few minutes he was making their excuses to leave, saying that it would likely be a long drive before they stopped to rest as it was.

Considering that Steve didn’t know where they were going, as usual, it wasn’t a lie, but they were actually going just a few miles away to an old motel Sai had pegged as sufficiently low-tech as to be mostly under the radar. Then it would be back East for a few more weeks and they’d stop. They hadn’t told Steve yet, but Bucky thought he would like Miami. Bucky also imagined the heat would keep him in those white t-shirts a lot.

After another round of hugs for Steve, they finally got back on the road. Bucky took an extra hour getting them to the chosen motel, making sure to throw off any tails they might have. It was a modest little affair in a bad part of town. Other people paid to make sure there were no eyes about, but was also secure enough Bucky agreed to two adjoining rooms. It gave Sai a little privacy, even if it did make his teeth ache at the thought of all the potential security issues with Sai in another room. 

It pained him that this was the best he could do for his guys, but they’d be settled in permanently soon enough.

In the second room, Sai ducked into the bathroom to shower and Bucky let Steve go on ahead so he could put the headphones on the kid’s doorknob. This place certainly wouldn’t have any soundproofing. Then he followed Steve to their room. The lights were off, but he found Steve silhouetted at the window, staring out at the city lights. It wasn’t New York, but he imagined they reminded Steve of home.

Coming up behind Steve, Bucky wrapped him in his arms and pressed a kiss beneath his ear. Steve hummed in approval, turning around in his arms for a proper kiss. When he opened his mouth, it was invitation for more, but that could wait. They had to talk first.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Bucky asked without heat.

“So everyone keeps saying,” Steve chuckled, “What did I do this time?”

Bucky growled, “Of course I love you. You think I’d do all this with anybody I didn’t love? Tolerate your merry band of spies against my better judgement?”

Steve’s mouth opened and closed and he looked more than a little star struck.

“They’re your friends,” Bucky found he couldn’t stop talking, “and you love them. I’m going to tolerate them and you calling in, giving away our location every other day. You and your lines, some of which are really stupid, by the way. I compromise myself in all kinds of ways for you, like that whole thing with Romanov, and you didn’t know I love you?”

Slowly, Steve shook his head, still looking awed.

“No, Buck, I… Maybe I should’ve, but that’s not the kind of thing you just assume.”

“Why not?” Bucky demanded. “We don’t spell out every little thing. You’d kill for me, you’d die for me. You think I wouldn’t die for you? Wouldn’t kill for you? The fact that you _know_ we put those in different orders and… _Of course I love you_ , you stupid punk.”

The insult didn’t make Steve react like a normal person. He _melted_ , body conforming to Bucky’s, hands sliding under his long-sleeved shirt as he pressed their foreheads together.

“I love you, too, jerk. Just… Tell a guy every once in awhile.”

“Aren’t you the one always tellin’ Sai we express affection in more ways than just words?”

Steve huffed.

“Do you like hearing it when I tell you I love you?”

“Well, yeah,” Bucky admitted.

“Don’t you think I’d like that too?”

Bucky blinked.

“Oh.”

Steve laughed softly, kissing Bucky slowly.

“Oh,” Steve agreed, kissing him through a smile. “Now, I’m gonna go take a shower.”

And just like that, the invitation was rejected. Damn it. 

“Let me come with,” Bucky proposed instead.

“Tempting,” Steve murmured, pressing their lips together again, “but then I won’t actually shower.”

Bucky pressed closer, nuzzling behind Steve’s ear and mouthing at his neck and Steve shivered. 

“But I did leave you high and dry today once already,” Bucky rasped directly into his ear, making sure to breathe moist, hot air onto Steve’s skin. “Don’t you want me to fix it?” he tempted, letting his flesh hand sneak between them and cupping Steve’s cock through the layers of cloth. He could feel him soft and vulnerable in his pants but almost the moment Bucky’s hand cupped him, Steve started getting hard.

“I’ll make it fast, I promise,” he whispered, rubbing his cheek against Steve’s, dragging his evening stubble over that golden skin and making it go pink from the burn.

Steve shuddered out a long breath, hands clenching on Bucky’s hips.

“You are a bastard,” Steve informed him, but Bucky wasn’t taking it too personally because in his hand Steve was now hot and hard and very obviously ready for some attention. “Yes,” Steve added, groaning when Bucky rubbed him through the clothes. “Come on, do what you promised.”

Bucky rubbed his cheek over Steve’s one more time, ending with a short kiss. “Sir, yes sir,” he murmured before he sank down to his knees. He jerked Steve’s pants and underwear off as fast as he could and wrapped his flesh hand around the straining, eager cock. Steve was already angry red. He always got like that when Bucky got him really hard but gave him no release. It was probably why he loved being edged so much, the fact that his body was being kept in a constant state of readiness, and he could get hard in a matter of seconds at the slightest provocation. 

Bucky was doing his best to provoke him now. He wasn’t going to tease though; on the contrary, he wanted to make Steve come as fast as possible. He leaned down to take the flushed head into his mouth and suck harshly, even as his flesh hand was jerking Steve’s shaft as fast as he could manage. Steve made a sharp, shocked sound and folded up over Bucky’s back, both hands resting on Bucky’s shoulders to keep him upright. Using his other hand, the metal one, Bucky reached between Steve’s legs and pressed his knuckles sharply into the spot behind Steve’s balls that allowed him to massage his prostate from the outside.

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve swore, hands clamping up like vises on his shoulders, and then he was coming straight into Bucky’s mouth, filling it in strong pulses. Bucky kept up the simulation for a while longer, enjoying the sounds Steve was making over him while he was coming and coming, until he pushed Bucky away, too sensitive to be touched anymore.

“Like it?” Bucky asked as Steve slumped onto the floor beside him.

“Jesus,” repeated Steve. “Did I like it? Jerk. Give me a moment and…”

“Nah,” Bucky protested, leaning down to kiss Steve’s cheek, his forehead, and finally his lips. “Go take that shower. I’ll do another perimeter check.”

Even as Steve was making half-irritated, half-sad sounds at him from the floor, Bucky got up. The truth was Steve was too tired for anything more today, too emotionally exhausted, and Bucky was still jittery as hell from meeting so many dangerous people. They both needed a good night's sleep and a late start tomorrow, not hours of sex. It was nearly always hours of sex with them, unless he put a stop to it.

A half hour later, Bucky returned satisfied they hadn’t been followed, Sai was safe for the night, and no one was lying in wait of performing surveillance nearby. He found Steve laid out on the bed, the crossword book Sai had bought him propped up on one knee. Hair still damp, he tapped his pen absently against his leg, eyes distant as he considered whatever clue the puzzle had stumped him with. Not the same as playing chess in the park, Bucky imagined, but a challenge for Steve’s brain. 

Once he’d looked his fill, Bucky pushed himself off the door and into the room with a soft, “Hey.”

Looking up, Steve’s eyes crinkled as his face lit with a soft smile.

“Hey, yourself. You gonna shower, or you comin’ to bed?”

“I, um,” Bucky’s stomach clenched. It was irrational, they’d been working on it, but it was still hard for him to ask for help. Steve just watched, not discouraging, but not making it any easier on Bucky either. “Would you, I mean. My shoulder? It’s…”

Apparently that was progress enough this time as Steve’s smile grew and he nodded.

“Yeah, Buck, lie down.”

Pulling his shirt over his head, Bucky kicked off his shoes and pants before pulling himself into the middle of the bed. The first time they’d done this, Bucky had expected to need to explain to Steve what he liked. He hadn’t expected the confident way Steve had had him lie on his stomach, the way he swung a leg over his hips. He expected it now, Steve straddling his waist, the bottle of massage oil in one hand, his fingers so carefully running down his spine. He’d thought it was hesitancy, uncertain where and what to touch, but it was just Steve touching him because he could.

At the base of his spine, Steve’s hands smoothed to the sides and he began working at the muscles. Bucky had tried to tell him it didn’t hurt there, but Steve had ignored him. Rather, he’d said all the muscles were connected, and if he was going to do this, he’d do it right. And he had. Steve’s long fingers dug into each muscle, pressure just right, just perfect. Not too much, but deep and powerful to undo the knots. Sometimes just pressure, pressure that drained the tension out like water. 

Steve, Bucky had found, knew exactly what he was doing, and Bucky hated whoever had taught him. He hated whoever Steve had learned on more. Not that he had said these things. He just moaned under Steve’s hands, trying to think about how good it felt, and not how good Steve must have made someone else feel.

When he finally focused on the left shoulder, Steve hissed and muttered, “Jeez, that’s a bad one,” before starting in on a particular knot.

“Have I mentioned,” Bucky groaned into his pillow, “how you remind me of a cat?”

Steve snorted.

“Only every time I get irritated, not to mention every time we have sex.”

Steve’s fingers pressed into the mess of scar tissue, and Bucky tensed. Atop him, Steve paused, added more oil so the pomegranate scent filled the room, and pressed both his palms, heel to heel, along the tangled mass. Slowly, with the gentlest pressure, he ran his hands apart, one up and over Bucky’s shoulder, the other down and under the metal arm. He stopped when his hands encountered the mattress, lifted his palms so only his fingertips met Bucky’s skin. The rough pads began tracing every whirl, every bump and raised mass, caressing, touching, exploring, completely unafraid and unashamed of touching the scars. His hands warmed the unfeeling tissue, massaging the healing oil into the rough skin, returning elasticity and easing pain. Gentle, tender, as if the ugly evidence of how different he was from their past wasn’t disgusting. 

When Steve’s hands met again, Bucky’s breathing hitched and then stopped altogether as Steve leaned forward and brushed his lips along the same path his hands had taken.

“Steve,” Bucky choked out.

It always felt like a punch to the gut, knowing Steve was so close, so focused on his scars. When they were naked with each other, Bucky kept Steve thoroughly distracted with sex. Frankly, he was still unsure how to feel about letting Steve see this, pay so much attention to such an ugly part of him. This wasn’t the first time, but it hadn’t gotten easier to let Steve see this, see him so exposed, so vulnerable, with no masks left to hide behind.

“I don’t tell you this very often,” Steve said quietly, one hand returning to the massage while his lips continued to trace the bumps and ridges of Bucky’s scar, “but you’re beautiful. Sometimes I look at you and it just takes my breath away. I want to draw you again. Will you sit for me?”

The air rushed out of Bucky all at once and he gasped for more.

“Steve, I…” 

He couldn’t finish the sentence, only nod, face pressed hard into the pillow.

“You know,” Steve went on, not pushing Bucky to say anything this time, “I did some research and they say massaging scars is pretty important. Oiling ‘em, too. Apparently, the skin will dry out and it’ll get tougher and that pulls the muscles funny.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Mm,” Steve hummed, sitting up again. He brought both hands back to the scar, long, dexterous fingers digging into the hard tissue and the muscles beneath. It hurt, but at some point the tension had drained from Bucky and soon Steve’s fingers had worked out the knots, worked his body nearly limp. He didn’t stop, though, only switched to the flesh shoulder and dug in. It nearly stole Bucky’s breath all over again once he realized there was no difference in how Steve touched the unmarred flesh.

“Feeling better?” Steve asked.

Nodding lazily, Bucky smiled, twisting his neck enough that he could look up at Steve with one eye.

“Your hands are incredible. Concentrated talent.”

“Mm,” Steve hummed, lips quirking with amusement, “You always said you liked my hands best. When you’d get mad, sometimes you’d tell me to get the hell out but leave ‘em behind.”

Breath catching, Bucky _remembered_. It wasn’t a flash, like it was usually, not a flicker, but an actual moment. Not so much the specifics, the exact words said, but Bucky was starting to realize he might never have details like that. Not like Steve, whose mind had been a steel trap before the serum took hold in his body.

Reaching back, Bucky grabbed Steve’s hand and he stilled.

“I remember,” Bucky licked his lips, “I’d worked a week of double shifts at the docks and I came home ‘n’ you told me to lie down. Told me you’d learned somethin’ for my back, ‘cause it was hurting so damned much, and you did this. You told me, you told me…” 

He broke off, drawing a blank on the detail, the words Steve had said to him. Images of blood and fear flashed in front of his eyes, a sure sign his mind was confusing the memories. That his memories of Steve were corrupted, gone...

“I told you,” Steve picked up quietly, “that I had to do something to pay you back. That I’d traded some stenciling work for a shop in Queens for a way to make your back stop hurting. It hurt so bad you were barely sleeping, and you were doing it ‘cause -” 

Relief washed away the horror trying to cling to his chest. Someone remembered, someone remembered when he couldn’t. Uncorrupted by Hydra and time, memories of him, of them. Steve never seemed to mind that his memories weren’t complete, just picked up where Bucky failed. Guided him back to what was real and, to Bucky’s surprise and pleasure, the memory unfurled for him again.

“‘Cause we had to take credit for your asthma cigarettes when the trees bloomed early that year.” 

Steve leaned down and pressed his lips just behind Bucky’s ear. The way Steve was stretched atop him meant his groin was resting on top of Bucky’s ass, his torso warm and strong along his back. Bucky arched his hips, pressing his ass firmly into Steve’s groin. He liked the intimate contact, even if it didn’t lead to anything more than Steve’s silent huff of amusement.

“Yeah, Buck. You thought it was weird, but you laid down and then made me sit on you so I wouldn’t hurt my back.”

“And you bitched because you were embarrassed, but god damn, you had such good hands, Rogers. Made you do it all the time after that.”

Laughing softly, Steve pressed his fingers into Bucky’s back, making him groan.

“I loved touching you,” Steve murmured into his ear, his breath fanning over Bucky’s skin and making him shiver. “Loved having a chance to make you feel good.”

Bucky swallowed, rubbing his face over the cool surface of the pillow, feeling the weight of Steve on top of him, his presence: large, yet non-threatening. 

“I’d get so damned hard, I couldn’t get up for ages after,” he admitted, voice raspy. “Sometimes it was so bad it made me tenser than when I’d laid down. Didn’t care, though, I just wanted you to touch me.”

Steve’s hands stilled again before he pressed another kiss to Bucky’s skin. Sliding part of the way off his back, Steve ended up sprawled across him, his arm lying over both Bucky’s shoulders. Nuzzling against the back of Bucky’s neck, he pressed another kiss to his hairline before settling with his nose against Bucky’s neck. He tangled their legs together, bare feet sliding over Bucky’s calves before his toes nudged Bucky’s ankles playfully.

“Weren’t we a pair,” he murmured, hushed and awed. “I love you, Sashka.”

Smiling, Bucky let his eyes close.

“Love you, too, Stevie.”

\----

Bucky woke up late, the way he tended to when there wasn’t any work to be done. What surprised him was that at nine in the morning Steve was still in bed beside him, reading something on his phone with a fiercely focused wrinkle on his forehead. Bucky tried to ignore it, and the way Steve was occasionally squirming, but after almost half an hour of trying to snooze while Steve kept his eyes glued to his phone and shifted like an antsy toddler, he’d had enough.

“What are you reading?” Bucky asked finally, With that wrinkle between his brows and a flush on his cheeks, Bucky didn’t know what Steve was thinking, let alone looking at. Both those expressions didn’t fit together and there were starting to make Bucky nervous.

When Steve didn’t answer, Bucky nudged him with his foot with no effect.

Bucky nudged him again, digging his toes into his calf long enough that Steve actually raised his eyes to frown at Bucky.

“What?” Steve asked, but his eyes were already darting back towards the phone.

“What are you reading?” Bucky asked again.

Once again, Steve was quiet, but he had looked back at Bucky with the oddest expression on his face.

“About sex.”

‘What?’ Bucky thought, bewildered. He was right here. Why would Steve need to read or look at porn? 

“Why?” he asked. 

His face must have clearly expressed what he was thinking because Steve was already rolling his eyes at him.

“I’m reading about the kind we tend to have,” Steve said pointedly.

Bucky groaned and rolled to his side, then over onto his belly, to press his face into the pillow. 

“I already told you,” he complained, “don’t need any freaking code words to know when you want to stop. ‘No’ is enough for me to know you mean ‘no’.” 

Putting the phone away, Steve turned to face Bucky. Reluctantly, he pulled his head out of the pillow and sat up, cross legged on the bed, facing Steve. His jaw was tense, the little muscle on the side of his forehead jumping, and he wasn’t looking Bucky in the eye. His expression was apprehensive, strained in a way Bucky didn’t like. A way that made his own body tense.

“I think I need it,” Steve said quietly. 

“Is this about yesterday?” Bucky asked cautiously.

Steve frowned, his eyes flicking up to search Bucky’s face before the frown cleared, replaced with an annoyed twist of his lips.

“You were eavesdropping,” Steve accused.

Bucky didn’t flinch, just raised his eyebrows. It couldn’t actually be a surprise to Steve. It certainly wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Sighing, Steve rubbed his face. 

“Of course you were,” his said, his voice laced with his trademarked fond exasperation. “You and your paranoia are still getting along well, then?”

“My paranoia and I just had our six-year anniversary,” Bucky confirmed in a deadpan tone. “The relationship is as strong and passionate as ever.” 

Steve shook his head, but there was a slight smile tugging at his lips. Amused, but not happy. Not anger, not yet, but there was the potential there if Bucky wasn’t careful. And he would be. Making Steve angry was in the top five of things he wasn’t going to do again. Ever.

“How much did you hear?” Steve demanded.

“Um,” Bucky stalled, unsure how to answer without getting socked.

Another sigh left Steve, but he laid his hand on Bucky’s metal arm. Still not mad. Not disappointed either, merely vexed. 

“So you heard everything?”

Bucky nodded carefully. 

“You seemed upset, but I don’t know what about.”

Steve looked away from him for a moment, out the window, at the wall, and then at his hand on Bucky’s arm.

“What we…you… The thing we did, in Tony’s house. The sex.”

Bucky frowned.

“What sex? We just made out a little.”

“That was much more than just making out. It was… Okay, it wasn’t _sex_ , but it wasn’t… I don’t even know what to call it, but it wasn’t nothing.”

Bucky’s frown deepened.

“Nobody came, no clothes were taken off, no one saw. Hell, there was even barely any skin-to-skin contact. We made out.”

“Buck,” Steve said, exasperated and _still_ not looking at him, “I was a minute from coming, at most, and I literally had to change my clothes afterwards.”

Well, when Steve put it that way… 

“Um, were you upset about the clothes?”

Steve’s eyes rolled to the ceiling, a familiar expression when asking for patience when dealing with something Bucky wasn’t catching on to. Honestly, Bucky had heard all this once. The second time wasn’t clearing anything up, so he was praying Steve had patience too.

“No,” Steve stressed, keeping his voice gentle. “I was upset we did it at all.”

This time, Bucky harrumphed.

“I have never known you to change your mind after you made a decision. You went with it. Why would you be upset about it now? You weren’t upset during.”

Gaze flicking back to the window, Steve’s shoulders tensed even further. Upset _still_ then, not just yesterday. Bucky didn’t like it; it made his stomach and chest tight. Uncomfortable. Having sex, fooling around… It wasn't supposed to be a cause for ‘upset’. Not now, not ever. Not between them.

“The thing is,” Steve said slowly, “I didn’t make a decision.” 

“What? You did, you -”

“Submitted to you,” Steve interrupted.

Bucky blinked, but thankfully Steve didn’t stop there.

“You know the things we do, how we do them - you in charge - makes me hot. There are certain…kinks that…affect me too, but mostly it’s the way you take control that makes me…relinquish my own. I get off on you getting off, and that means I’m not…always capable of objecting when I’m not...comfortable. I don’t know if I want it or not.”

“I don’t get it,” Bucky said frankly, “How can you not know if you want it? You’ve never had problems with saying no before.”

Steve licked his lips, tightening his grip on Bucky’s arm. Relief flooded his chest as Steve turned back to him, but those blue eyes didn’t meet his. Still upset? The lines were still there between Steve’s eyes, but his brows were drawn down as well, shoulders and neck and arms tense. Nervous. Why would this make Steve nervous?

“I don't think you understand,” Steve continued in that same, slow manner that was starting to drive Bucky insane, “just how much I want to- I _need_ to please you.”

The hand in Steve’s lap, curled into a fist, finally moved. Long fingers uncurled and pressed against Bucky’s chest. A need for contact when Steve wasn’t sure he was wanted.

“When you call me kitten, telling me you want to take over it’s…The way it makes me feel… I can’t really describe it. It’s not immediate, but sooner or later it’s like my body is secondary to your desires. I’d do anything you asked me to, Buck. Probably get off on it, too. So in the hall...I wanted it, I did, but…”

Bucky stared. Of course he knew Steve liked it when he took over, but he hadn’t quite realised how far that desire went. How _deep_. Hearing it now, in simple, blunt terms, he was forced to see it was far more than he had thought. The reality was a completely different monster.

“There's… There’s not enough ‘me’ left to always consider the situation from all angles, definitely not enough to argue with you, or explain nuances. When we were done,” Steve’s hand on Bucky’s arm opened, “I was embarrassed. It was in a hallway, in Tony’s home, in...”

He had thought Steve was offering it to Bucky, allowing him to get off on that sweet submission, but it wasn’t that at all. Steve’s desire wasn’t just physical, just him becoming lost in the pleasure. What Steve was describing felt a lot more like the mind and behavioral control Bucky had been subjected to at Hydra’s hands than an act of mutual pleasure.

Bucky jerked away and pushed himself to his feet, almost tripping on the bedclothes in his haste to get some distance. His mind was reeling with Steve’s words, with his admission that he _couldn’t say no_. That he couldn’t refuse. That Bucky was doing to the man he loved the same as had been done to him so many times. What had made him so confused, so lost, that all he could do was follow orders.

“Wait, Buck,” Steve was scrambling from the bed to follow, reaching out, but Bucky skittered away from his reaching hands. The metal arm came up defensively. This time Steve jerked back, raising both his hands, palms out. Using his body to indicate he wasn’t a threat.

Bucky’s stomach flipped, then flipped again, and oh, god he was going to be sick.

“ _Sasha_ ,” Steve said firmly even while keeping his distance, hands still in the air. “You’re overreacting. Calm down.”

As intended, the name wrenched Bucky from the panicked corner he had mentally wedged himself into. Even now, remembering so much of his past, he sometimes preferred Sasha. During missions, in dangerous, or stressful situations, it was always ‘Sasha’. ‘Bucky’ was for when they were relaxed. Steve always knew which one he needed to hear, an invaluable gift.

Looking at him now, Bucky could see he wasn’t showing any signs of distress. His stance was calm, grounded. His breathing, steady as was the flutter of his pulse in his throat. That calm spoke volumes more than any words, and Sasha started to slowly relax. This was another reason he always read Steve’s body language when they talked. Everybody said Steve was a shit liar and it was truth, but not because he didn't know how to lie. It was because he never could project one emotion successfully while feeling something completely different. 

Sasha could always count on knowing what Steve was really feeling just by looking at him. Steve was upset, yes, but now he could see it was for Sasha, not for himself. He was only keeping his hands up and in a clear line of sight to ensure Sasha didn’t instinctively treat Steve as a threat, the way he had promised he would. 

Soon after they’d left New York together, Sasha had asked him to present himself as non-threatening if Sasha was losing it. With Sai, Sasha had never had that problem. The kid was too small and skinny to pose a physical threat. Steve was another matter entirely. Large and heavily muscled, obviously well trained with how he moved, how he held himself, Steve would always be the biggest threat in the room. Sasha’s conditioning told him to eliminate that threat, and if he wasn’t in control… 

“Sasha,” Steve repeated again.

Sasha nodded convulsively, indicating that he was listening and the moment of panic had passed. There was no answering smile, but Steve nodded back. He didn’t try to come closer; wouldn’t until Sasha made a move towards him first.

“If you did something I was completely against,” Steve said earnestly, “I would object. I would tell you no, I swear I would. I’m not doing anything against my will,” Steve assured him again. “I swear it, Sasha.”

Sasha was uncomfortable. The horrible parallels between this situation and what he’d suffered at Hydra’s hands were still echoing in his brain, making him jittery and unsure. Confused. What he’d done had upset Steve, upset him because he had pushed, and Steve couldn’t tell him no.

“But you said you couldn’t argue...”

“About little things, Sasha,” Steve interjected, cutting through the increasingly panicked loop of Sasha’s thoughts.

“Explain,” he demanded, voice rougher than he expected.

“Yesterday, when we were…necking in that corridor, you pushed me into what the stuff I was reading about called subspace. I have nothing against necking with you. I love it, I love when you touch me, when you press me against walls and rub yourself on me like you can’t wait a second longer. When you said I wasn’t upset during, you’re right. I wasn’t.”

“But you said…” Sasha persisted, making Steve huff in exasperation.

Sasha waited for Steve’s response, but felt in enough control to lower his metal arm, the clearest sign of his agitation and straighten from the defensive crouch he had adopted. Immediately, Steve came closer, making Sasha back up until he was pressed against the wall. Steve didn’t try to touch his arms or wrists, guessing that would feel too much like being restrained. Instead, he rested his palms lightly on Sasha’s hips, just leaning against him, Steve’s body warm and solid. Reassuring that he hadn't broken the man who trusted him too much.

“You misunderstood,” Steve said assuredly. “You have never once done anything without my consent - my very _enthusiastic_ consent. Okay?”

Sasha breathed in, then breathed out slowly.

“What did you mean when you said you couldn’t say no?” he asked, letting his hands tentatively perch on Steve’s waist. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be reaching out to touch Steve yet. For now, he wanted to remain passive, but he didn’t want Steve to stop touching him either.

Though Steve glanced down, Sasha understood this time he was trying to get the words out right this time. 

“I…get off when you push my boundaries. On the…shame, to a degree.” Sasha frowned, again losing the very shaky understanding, but Steve didn’t stop. ”Like the way you, um, call my pecs,” Steve blushed fiercely, but choked out, “tits. It gives me this...rush, the way you say it, or sometimes when you make me do certain...things.” The blush was growing darker, travelling down his neck. “Like the way you make me, uhm, present to you.”

“I know you do,” Sasha murmured, sliding the tips of his fingers under the hem of Steve’s tee and touching the smooth, warm skin underneath. Steve shivered, eyes flicking up to Sasha’s and they were dark, pupils dilated to swallow the blue irises. Aroused despite himself, or maybe _because_ of his embarrassment.

“Sometimes,” Steve went on, “the way you push is just too close to a line I didn’t know I had, or just something I am not really sure about. The things is, it doesn’t necessarily make me want to _stop_.”

Sasha frowned.

“So you want to stop, but you don't want to stop,” Sasha repeated, not quite sure he understood.

Steve nodded slightly.

“When we were against that wall, I didn’t want you to stop, not at all, but… I didn’t want to keep going, either. So...I was reading and… Next time, I want you to wait. Give me a moment to breathe so I can figure out what I want, but you don’t have to stop completely.”

“How am I supposed to know when you need me to do that?” Sasha asked, glad that at least he understood what Steve meant now.

Steve licked his lips, still flushed, still aroused, leaning heavily against Sasha’s chest.

“Colors,” he answered. “Just a simple green, yellow, red scale. They’re not quite safe words, see? You already see when I hesitate so now you just...ask me where I am, and I’ll tell you. Green means I’m completely okay, yellow means I’m not sure and I need a breather, and red’s as good as no. Then you’ll know what’s going on with me, but we don’t have to stop unless…we have to stop.”

Sasha hummed thoughtfully, sliding his fingers along the ridge of Steve’s hip.

“It does make sense,” he admitted. “So at Stark's it was…what color?”

Steve smiled at him, grateful and relaxed. Happy.

“Yellow,” Steve said firmly, “I wasn’t sure.”

No longer looking away from him, Sasha could study Steve’s blue gaze as he thought back, remembering the scene in vivid detail. Remembering the shuddery way Steve asked, “Here?” and how Sasha had pushed him, wheedled that he would only do a little. If there really was that much of a power dynamic between them as Steve implied there was, then he shouldn’t have pressed. 

“I should have asked your color the moment you asked about the location,” Sasha said understandingly, “I knew you were hesitant, and I pushed instead.”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t like what we did,” Steve rushed to reassure him. “I was just angry later, at myself. If I’d had a little time to think it over, I might have still agreed, but…”

“It would have been your choice.”

Steve let out a soft puff of air, surprised that Sasha had understood so quickly.

“Yeah, and I knew that it wasn’t… That it was going to hurt you to find out it hadn’t been.”

“There’s been no...red?” Bucky pressed, trying out the new color code at the same time.

“None,” Steve answered instantly.

“Yellow?”

Something flicked in Steve’s eyes and Sasha swallowed, tightening his grip on Steve’s hips.

“Tell me.”

“That, the… When you spanked me.”

Sasha flinched, fingers releasing Steve. Immediately Steve caught Sasha’s jaw, pulling their faces together, foreheads touching.

“Sasha, no,” Steve said quickly. “It was good, it was so good, but I didn’t know that going in. I loved it. You should… You should do that again.”

Slowly, Sasha held on again. With how Steve’s voice had gone breathless, his weight shifting from one foot to the other, there was no doubt he meant it. Thinking about that now was getting him worked up. Sasha hadn’t hurt him. Well, he had. He hadn’t _damaged_ him.

“You like pain with a slow build up,” Sasha said carefully, sliding his hands from Steve’s hips to his ass and taking hold of those incredible glutes and squeezing. Steve gasped, flinching then pressing his ass into Sasha’s hands.

“What else do you like?” Sasha asked, rubbing Steve’s flesh.

“The way you go at my nipples,” Steve admitted breathlessly. “Until they’re sore and...and kinda painful? I like that. I love that, that particular kind of pain.” Steve licked his lips. “I think I would like if you…took that further.”

“The pain?” Sasha asked, his voice as husky as Steve’s. 

He slid his colder, metal hand under Steve’s sweatpants, again grabbing one stunning cheek, digging his fingers in and pulling, tugging at Steve’s hole. The way Steve’s breathing hitched, how he immediately shifted, spreading his legs suggested he loved the feeling. 

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve rasped, pushing his ass even further into Bucky’s hands.

The choice of names threw Bucky off for a moment. Bucky meant more to him and to Steve. It meant home on a level they couldn’t explain with words. It meant home and a shared past, even if he couldn’t remember it all the time. It meant so much, he nearly forgot what Steve was saying, ‘Yeah,” to.

“You mean toys,” Bucky breathed, blindsided by the realisation, pulling Steve closer to him, wrapping him tight with his flesh arm, the other still down Steve’s pants, massaging a tight cheek. “You would let me use toys?”

Steve was hard against him, rocking between the metal hand on his ass and pressing his straining cock into Bucky’s equally hard cock through their pants.

“What… What kind of toys?” Steve asked in a raspy voice. 

Already, Steve was so turned on, so hot Bucky could smell it on him. He pushed Steve’s sweats down over his narrow hips and Steve wiggled obligingly, causing them to slip down his legs. Bucky pulled Steve’s hips towards himself and Steve went willingly, pressing himself against Bucky. Now bare from the waist down, Bucky could feel even more of him. His hard cock curved towards his belly and Bucky looked down to watch the way the flushed head dragged against Bucky’s belly, leaving wet marks behind. Putting both palms on Steve’s ass, he clenched to spread them out and expose that tiny hole he was so enamored with.

“Clamps,” Bucky answered. “The softer kind, that I could leave on you for a really long time.”

“Softer kind?” Steve repeated, eyes dark now, wriggling back into Bucky’s hands. 

“Not metal; with silicone ends…”

Smirking, Bucky stretched his fingers to brush the tightly furled hole and stroke it, imagining how it would look when he was finished with it. After hours of him fucking and fingering it. Instead of this tight ring of muscle, Steve would be wet and sloppy and so goddamned open it broke Bucky’s mind every time. It was the serum that allowed him to play so roughly with Steve’s body, that ensured Steve would be okay when Bucky finished. No adverse after effects except the drop. It was everything Bucky had been looking for in a partner: the challenge, the submission, the ability to keep up with him. 

Steve was leaning his head on Bucky’s shoulder now, both hands gripping Bucky’s hips as he panted from just this slight stimulation.

“You can attach weights or little chains to some of the clamps,” Bucky murmured into Steve’s ear. “They would move every time you did, if you twitched or even breathed deeply, pulling at your nipples.”

Bucky couldn’t hold himself back any longer. He pushed two of his flesh fingers into Steve’s exposed hole, causing a Steve to let loose a loud gasp as he rose onto tiptoes. He wasn’t protesting though, only spread his legs wider. Offering Bucky even more.

“Imagine how it would feel if I put you on your hands and knees and fucked you from behind? Every time I pushed in, the weights would swing, pulling at your nipples. Hurting them so good.”

Pressing his face harder to Bucky’s neck now, Steve’s hips were working against Bucky’s belly. They pumped Steve’s cock through the damp on Bucky’s t-shirt left behind from his precome. Then he was rocking back against the two fingers that were invading him dry, body clenching tight and desperately around them.

“Would you even be able to keep upright then, kitten? Or would I need to hold you up?” Bucky pressed his fingers in deeper, twisting them so Steve really felt them. “Could you come from that? I bet you could; you love having your tits aching and abused. Like when you came from me sucking on them for hours. Right, kitten?”

Steve gasped into Bucky’s neck, hands clenching down so hard on Bucky’s hips that they were sure to leave bruises, and came, spurting come in pulses over Bucky’s t-shirt. Using his metal arm, Bucky gathered Steve close to his chest as he shuddered and gasped through his the pleasure. His flesh fingers remained buried deep in Steve’s ass, thrusting slowly to milk the most from his orgasm. Each thrust in, Steve let out a low moan, indicating Bucky was grazing his prostate, so he didn't stop, just kept up the slow finger fuck. 

A month earlier, it would likely have been a painful for Steve. Now they had sex so often, Steve had gotten really good at relaxing his ass to take whatever Bucky offered. Thinking about adding toys into this was breaking Bucky’s brain.

“God, kitten, you are so gorgeous, so goddamned gorgeous,” Bucky murmured.

Speeding up his fingers, Bucky aimed deliberately for Steve’s prostate now and Steve let out sharp little ‘ah’s with each contact and making Steve hold on to him for dear life. One of his hands was fisted in Bucky’s soiled t-shirt, the other wrapped around Bucky’s back, pulling the two men tightly together. Between them, his cock was soft, pink and plump and obscenely vulnerable.

Again unable to help himself, Bucky snuck his metal hand between their bodies and took hold of one perky nipple. He adored torturing them, adored Steve’s reactions to the pain and pleasure. He rubbed the little nub before pinching harder and pulling. When he’d stretched it just far enough, he let go and listened to how Steve’s breath hitched. Then he repeated the move over and over. Just pinching, pulling, and letting go. In a matter of moments, Steve was squirming again, his body twisting, unable to decide if it wanted more or wanted to escape. Steve was panting, nosing the hair at Bucky’s neck and mouthing the sweaty skin at his throat. 

Bucky’s own heart was pounding, mind going berserk with all the possibilities Steve’s confession had given him.

“I could put the clamps on you,” Bucky rasped, pulling at Steve’s nipple. It was already hot and dark pink from the attention. Steve kept twitching every time the metal fingers pinched him, whining as the grip became progressively harder. “Then make you get dressed. Put that leather jacket of yours on so nobody sees them on those needy little tits of yours. Make you go around with those wicked little things clamped on so tightly, sending tingling pain down your chest with every step. Every twist of your clothes.”

Steve was whining steadily now, clenching down desperately on Bucky’s fingers, his ass hot and tight. He bit at Bucky’s neck, teeth sinking in harshly as Steve again began rutting against Bucky’s already-soiled belly. Rubbing eager and needy, pushing forward and then back onto Bucky’s fingers. Not needing Bucky to move them, wanting it badly enough he’d do all the work if Bucky let him.

“I would keep them on you until you begged. Until you cried, kitten. Even then I wouldn’t take them off, just push you against a wall somewhere, pull your pants down, and push my cock inside you. Fuck you like your body was only made for my pleasure. You’re so gorgeous when you beg and whine, kitten. So fucking gorgeous it’s all I can do not to bend you over every ten fucking minutes and give it to you. Just stuff my cock inside this hot, tight hole and pump it full of come so you’re sloppy and _wet_.”

Whining louder, Steve arched against Bucky, against the fingers clenched tightly on his red and abused nipple. He came again like that, adding another load to the one already dripping down Bucky’s belly. The hand on Bucky’s back dug in hard enough there would be welts, trying to hold himself up. Trying and failing. 

This time, Steve’s legs gave out and Bucky had to quickly stop his torment to catch him. Even then, Steve kept his teeth locked on bucky’s neck, whining as if Bucky was killing him. It was only turning Bucky on more, the unconsciously possessive way Steve was acting, biting at him.

“You are so good to me, kitten. So fucking good. All I want is to make you come over and over again until you cry.” 

Bucky picked Steve up, carried him the few steps to the bed, and dropped him onto the mattress. Steve splayed on the mattress, shirt half-rucked up over his stomach, legs falling apart. Blue eyes tracked him lazily beneath half-lidded eyes as his breath came harsh, chest heaving so his tits practically jiggled.

“Oh, love how you look right now; the fucking definition of wrecked.”

Bucky reached for his tee and yanked it off. Something ripped, but he didn't stop to look. He yanked harder, pulling until he was free. Then he pushed his pants and underwear down while his gaze remained focused on how Steve looked right then: legs bent and spread obscenely, dark eyes glazed, but watching him hungrily, arms already reaching for him.

“Bucky, Buck, come on, please. Put your cock in me now, please Buck,” Steve begged, even as he helped push Bucky’s pants off. 

Bucky could only stare at him, the pink flush suffusing his whole body, the way his softening cock was still swollen and resting helplessly against his belly. Much like Bucky, Steve had very little hair on his body. Probably an after-effect of the serum, but it only served to highlight how open and vulnerable he looked. Belly twitching and heaving from his most recent orgasm, his chest flushed, and his left nipple and surrounding areola, were a dark, aggravated red. 

Bucky barely managed to grab the bottle of lube he always kept on their nightstand before he was crawling onto the bed over Steve. Steve, who was pulling at him, hands grasping his body and eagerly pulling him closer. Bucky dove in for a kiss, Steve opening his mouth obediently for him, letting Bucky taste and take whatever he wanted. Moaning, Bucky squeezed the lube so hard it popped and spilled all over his hand. At the sound, Steve’s eyes snapped open, but Bucky didn’t stop kissing him. He just dropped the broken tube and wrapped his hand around Steve’s steadily softening cock. The lube was cold and slick, making a wet sucking sound as he started to jerk Steve off. After his two orgasms, Steve was sensitive and mostly limp, jerking under Bucky as if struck by lightning. He whined, gasping desperately as Bucky stroked his cock as fast as he could.

“You and your goddamned ideas,” Bucky groaned staring down at Steve, feeling him squirm and whine as if being tortured. “You drive me mad, honest to god mad.” Impossibly, Bucky managed to make his hand move even faster, slowly forcing Steve to become hard again as he jerked mercilessly. “Toys; I can't even bear to think of all the things I want to do to you, kitten. All the things I want to put on you, inside you. I can't even… Jesus, Steve…” 

Bucky groaned again, squeezing Steve’s cock and leaning over him, halting his flailing with his own weight. Steve sobbed as Bucky wrapped his lips around Steve’s severely abused nipple, closed his teeth over it, and sucked hard. Crying out, Steve arched wildly, almost throwing Bucky off completely before clutching at his back, digging his fingers in hard enough to leave burning welts down his sides.

Still keeping his teeth clenched on the red and swollen nipple, Bucky managed to haphazardly slick his own achingly hard cock with the remnants of the lube and press his head into Steve’s tiny hole.

“I can’t stop thinking of all the toys I could stuff in this incredible ass of yours,” he groaned as he sank in slowly, barely managing to keep a slow pace with how Steve arched and bore down on him, how hungrily he took the whole cock in, and clenched down like a vise. “I could fuck you open and sloppy, then stuff a big, heavy dildo inside you and then have you fuck me.” Bucky rasped, mind swimming with the endless possibilities. “And after you came, you would still be so full of lube and come and that fucking big plug, so open and ready for me to just pull it out and fuck you again, and again, and again all goddamned day long.”

Bucky was panting the words helplessly even as he slumped over Steve, both unable to hold himself up and pulled in by Steve’s grasping, reaching hands. They were chest-to-chest, so close Bucky could actually feel how hot that abused nipple of Steve’s was against his skin. Pressing his mouth to Steve’s in sloppy kiss, he thrust his tongue inside Steve’s mouth in time with his pumping hips. Each thrust was pushing strangled sounds from Steve, making him gasp and thrash, trying to get more, or less, or likely both. Steve was so close, so close and Bucky had done so little to him.

“I can’t even… The way I want you is ridiculous,” Bucky gasped and managed to shift enough to get his hand around Steve’s cock again. Steve released a strangled sound and his fingers clawed at Bucky’s back. “I can barely focus on anything but you and your body. You drive me to distraction every damn day. I don’t even fucking notice anyone else; I’m too busy thinking of when you’ll next let me spread your ass and stuff my cock inside you.”

“Buck, yes, please, yes,” Steve begged, equally breathless, straining his neck for another kiss. He missed and his lips landed on Bucky's cheek, his jaw. “Yes.”

“If you let me,” Bucky panted, “I would keep something inside you all the time. Maybe a plug, keeping all the lube inside, keeping you from leaking, ready to be fucked at any moment I - _fuck_.” 

Bucky slammed his lips against Steve’s, not really managing a kiss, just mashing their lips together as he came, spilling what felt like his very essence into Steve.

“Steve,” he moaned, still with his hand around Steve’s cock. A squeeze was enough to send Steve over, and Bucky cursed as Steve’s muscles clenched down on his own oversensitive cock. For the third time, Steve came, his body spasming and twitching against and around Bucky. He didn’t cry out, too spent for that, but whimpered, eyes shut tightly until the aftershocks drained from his system. 

Bucky slid an arm beneath Steve’s shoulders, the other around his waist, and locked them together. As expected, Steve began to shiver, his hands lifting to clutch at Bucky’s shoulders. Holding tight, holding them together. Bucky just shushed him, nuzzling into his jaw, exhausted, but knowing Steve needed him. 

These moments, more than sharing memories, or the sex itself, were his favorite. In those moments of absolute vulnerability, Steve was beyond beautiful to him. The moments Steve _needed_ him. No one else got him this way, not Tony, not Natasha, not Sam, or even Sai. Steve wouldn’t let himself be vulnerable with them. True, Natasha had Steve’s trust in ways Bucky wasn’t sure even he had, but this? This was his. After the nightmares? Steve came to him. Could only fall asleep if he was near; only bothered to fight his insomnia if Bucky asked. 

“Love you,” Bucky murmured against Steve’s temple.

To Bucky’s surprise, the tension drained from Steve all at once. His hands stopped clutching, just resting on his shoulders, and he turned his face so their cheeks pressed together. A soft sigh left him, content and calm again.

“Love you, too.”

Maybe there were other people in the world Steve could have had this with, but he had chosen Bucky. No, he wasn’t deserving, and maybe Steve would figure that out one day, but for now he had everything he wanted. They weren’t perfect, but they were happy.

 

The End.

 

A/N

For now :P (that was Cleo btw)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Cleo** : No. Xan told me I could say that, so no, I don’t want to stop writing this and she made me. Of course, I had to make her stop writing this epilogue (you realize it’s four times longer than any other chapter?) because, in the end, we both just couldn’t stop ourselves. We loved this story and we loved all of you who read it. At some point, I’m sure we’ll come back to it. It’s our baby. Besides, Sasha and Sai and Steve can’t be left alone for long or they’ll get into all kinds of trouble.
> 
> In all honesty, this has been one of my favorite stories to write. Getting the characterizations perfect, arguing with Xan about what Steve or Sai or Sasha would do, or wouldn’t do, was more rewarding and educational than I could have ever expected. Our brainstorming sessions were just incredible. Ideas building off of ideas and suggestions and was definitely my favorite part. We left a lot of ideas on the cutting room floor, but for now we’re going to go play with some other versions of our boys.
> 
> <3 We don’t wanna go, but sometimes you gotta stop before you ruin a good thing.
> 
>  **Xantissa** : this story was an adventure and a half to write. It was a first co-written project of this scope and sheer size I have ever written. It might actually be the longest single story I ever write. When we got prompted by a single conversation I never thought it would turn out into this. Writing this extensively with another author was an incredibly fun experience. It was so much easier, so much more exciting. I had loads of fun with this story. As for myself I know I will be trying to tempt cleo into writing more with me because damn, I think we do really good together. Oh, and I loved the arguing too. Sometimes I swear Cleo wanted to bang her head against her desk before I got what she was saying. There was shouting. And huffing. A lot of huffing. Some screaming might have happened too.

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow Cleo on Tumblr ](http://cleo4u.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover art for "Honeypot" by cleo4u2 and xantissa](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8018824) by [Lovesfic (me23)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/me23/pseuds/Lovesfic)




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